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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  Notes  /  Notes  techniques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Physical 
features  of  this  copy  which  may  alter  any  of  the 
images  in  the  reproduction  are  checked  below. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couvertures  de  couleur 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Certains 
ddfauts  susceptibles  de  nuire  d  la  qualitd  de  la 
reproduction  sont  not6s  ci-dessous. 


D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 


Tl 

P< 
of 

fil 


Tl 

C( 

or 
af 


D 
D 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  ddcolor^es,  tachet^es  ou  piqu6es 


Tight  binding  (may  cause  shadows  or 
distortion  along  interior  margin)/ 
Reliure  serr6  (peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou 
de  la  distortion  le  long  de  la  marge 
int^rieure) 


D 


s/ 


n 


Coloured  plates/ 
Planches  en  couleur 


Show  through/ 
Transparence 


Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 


Tl 
fil 
in 


M 
in 
uf 
b( 
fo 


n 


Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires 


Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  bibliographiques 


□ 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


D 

D 
D 


Pagination  incorrect/ 
Erreurs  de  pagination 


Pages  missing/ 

Des  pages  manquent 


Maps  missing/ 

Des  cartes  g^ographiques  manquent 


D 


Plates  missing/ 

Des  planches  manquent 


D 


Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6ti§  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet^  de  I'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche  shall 
contain  the  symbol  —^-(meaning  CONTINUED"), 
or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"),  whichever 
applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la  der- 
nidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  — »-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le  symbols 
V  signifie  "FIN". 


The  original  copy  was  borrowed  from,  and 
filmed  with,  the  kind  consent  of  the  following 
institution: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6ndrosit6  de  I'^tablissement  pr§teur 
suivant  : 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Maps  or  plates  too  large  to  be  entirely  included 
in  one  exposure  are  filmed  beginning  in  the 
upper  lAft  hand  corner,  left  to  right  and  top  to 
bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


Les  cartes  ou  les  planches  trop  grandes  pour  dtre 
reproduites  en  un  seul  clichd  sont  filmdes  d 
partir  de  Tangle  sup^rieure  gauche,  de  gauche  d 
droite  et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Le  diagramme  suivant 
illustre  la  mdthode  : 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

7 


\ 


// 


J^ 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Comers 


Beins 


Ye  Faithful  Drama 


of 


Ye   Artists'   V^i^detta 


^>t.<)Cin/tJ 


Duncan  &  Hall, 

PuiiLISHERS. 

Philadelphia, 


f 


J 


PSS4&7 


-D  /  X  o  N ,  ^  f) . 


/>  ^, 


69572 


(  OPYI'IGHT  BY 
IXNCAN   A   HALL,   PHILADELPHIA 

1880 

[-All  rights  reserved] 


EPISTLE  DEDICATORY. 


My  Dear  Lord  Diifferin  : 

May  I  dedicate  this  little  play  to  you  in  retnemb ranee  of 
the  many  happy  hours  at  Rideau  bearing  especially  in  mind 
all  that  is  associated  with  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night 
when  your  Epilogue  was  spoken— 

"  Ando/t  at  home  when  Christmas  fire-loss  burn 

Our  Pensive  thoughts  instinctively  will  turn 

To  this  fair  city  with  her  crown  of  towers. 
And  all  the  Joys  and  friends  that  once  were  ours, 
And  q/t  shall  yearning  fancy  fondly  fill 
This  hall  with  guests,  and  conjure  up  at  will 
Each  dear  familiar  face,  each  kindly  word—' 


Philadelphia,  Christmas,  iS8o. 


Faithfully, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


I 


< 


TIME— To-L)AY.     PLACE— :\.  Conundrum. 


ACT  r. 

The  Plot — In  a  Studio. 

ACT  II. 
High  Art — In  a  Barn. 


ACT  III. 
MoME — ///  a  Cottage. 


fc.5JX  jLi  «iai»» 


DRAMATIS  J^ERSON/E. 


RAPHAEL  GAMBOGE 

IL  BACIO  MODDLE 

BAROUCHE  BROli'N. 

nR.  SAM  FLOYD 

NATHANIEL  BOBBIN 

ALFRESCO  DADO 

MAUD  CASHMERE   BOUQUET. 
CONSUELA  RENAISSANCE 


A  Painter. 

A  Sculptor. 

An  Art  CmTie. 

An  Unkmotionai.  Physician. 

.  .  An  Enthusiast  in  Soap. 


)■  Daughtkks  to  Brown. 


J 


MISSALHAMBRA  FRIEZE t„hir  Hi.h-C.u 

MISS  CAIRNGORM     . 


UKCH  Friend. 

A  Woman  Reporter. 

ANGELICO  BEN.  CEL   BA  Y7P7?  n 

c^^.  jiAXlLh.  .    .  Colored  page  to  the  Browns. 

a  Brown's  meek  handmaiden.) 
An  Angel  in  the  oyster  business. 

•     .     .     .  A  HIT  OF   EGG   shell  CHINA. 

An  Egyptian  Mummy. 

An  Old  Greek  Marblh. 


COSETTES'  ANKLES.  .  (Cosette  bein 

BILL  BVLES 

CRICKET 

GRASSHOPPER 

STUMPS. 

POLICEMEN.  CONNOISSEURS,  ETC. 


J 


•9* 


^' 


ACT    I.     THE    PLOT. 

Scene  I. —  77ie  Studio. 

Enter  Raphael  GAMnor.ic,  excitedly  holding  a  neiospaper  in  his 

hand. 

Gamboge.  I  don't  mind  the  feliow  making  an  infernal  fool  of 
himself  as  long  as  some  other  idiot  can  be  found  to  pay  him 
twenty  dollars  a  column  for  it,  but  I  wish  to  heaven  he  would 
make  an  ass  of  himself  on  some  other  subject  than  Art !  Was  ever 
such  a  lot  of  rubbish  palmed  off  on  an  unsuspecting  public ! 
\^Reads.'\  "  There  is  an  indefinable  something  which  steals  upon 
the  beholder,  a  lack  of  symphonic  treatment,  so  to  speak — a  sub- 
tle idea — er-er — that  is  to  say — aw — he — in  fact  he  does  not  grasp 
his  subject  boldly,  and  there  is  a  lack  of  a  sense  of  vacancy  about 
his  sky,  as  it  were,  that  seems  to  express,  clumsy  handling — Ah-h 
-h!  The  Old  Masters  !  They  were  the  glorious  fellows."  D— n 
the  Old  Masters  !  If  I  had  this  ill-conditioned  mule  in  the  open 
r.ir,  I'd  let  him  know  pretty  precious  quick  if  I  could  not  handle  a 
subject  boldly  and  give  him  such  a  sense  of  vacancy,  regarding 
the  sky,  as  would  send  him  home  on  a  shutter  ! 

Enter  Moddlk. 

Moddle.  Halloo,  Gam,  how  is  things?  Somehow  you  don't 
look  happy!     Oh,  ah,  you've  been  reading  the  Fog  Whistle,  have 


I 


8 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


you  ?     I   thought  you  had  sworn  off   on  reading  criticisms !     I 
would  smile  at  such  rot — smile  philosophically,  Gam. 

Gamboge.  Teach  me  your  philosophic  smile,  will  you?  So  you 
have  seen  his  notice  of  your  Jephtha's  daughter?" 

Moddle.  No !  where  ?  what  does  he  say  ? 

[  Takes  the  paper  from  Gamboge  and  reads.'\ 

Moddle  \in  a  rage'\.  Why  hang  this  idiotic  drivel  !  He  has 
mixed  me  up  with  another  man,  \^Slaps  the  paper  furiously. '\  Here 
he  says  my  Jephtha's  daughter  looks  like  a  pickle-eating  graduate 
of  the  public  school,  a  cadaverous  female  thr.t  ought  with  my 
Bacchus  to  make  a  pair — (my  Bacchus  !)  exhibited  last  year  at  the 
Academy,  which  had  the  appearance  of  being  modeled  from  Pork 
and  after  re-named  Jack  Spratt  and  wife,  the  Society  for  the  pre- 
vention of  Cruelty  to  Animals  should  demand  that  ^^  oth  be  ground 
to  powder  for  the  culture  of  cabbage — why  the  d —  fool  Chizzle 
did  Bacchus.  Now  Gam,  what  the  devil  are  you  making  that 
face  for? 

Gamboge.  I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  making  a  face.  I  was 
watching  for  the  first  beam  of  your  philosophic  smile. 

Moddle.  H'm,  well  you  must  admit  that  compared  with  myself 
he  has  let  you  down  easy.  But  I  swear — by  all  the  Chizzles  and 
chisels — animate  and  inanimate,  I'll  be  even  with  Brown  before 
snow  is  on  the  ground. 

Gamboge  \seizing  his  hand\.  And  I'll  help  you. 

\^A  knock  is  heard.  ~\ 


\ 


/ 


Ye  Last  Szvect  Thing  in  Corners.  g 

Moddle.  There's  some  one,  I'll  be  o-iJ-h — see  you  later. 

[^Exit  MoDDi.K,  side  door. 
[(iAMHor.K,  after  a  hasty  glance  about  the  apartment^  opens  door.] 
Enter  fat,  over-dressed  Old    Ladv,  7vith    07>er.dressed    YoUNG 
Daughter,  who  7valk  in  and  stare  about  them. 

Gamboge.  How  can  I  serve  you,  ladies? 

Fat  Old  Lady,  Can  you  finish  my  daughter  in  water  and  ile  ? 

Gamboge.  You  wish  her  portrait  painted,  I  presume,  madam  ? 

F.  O.  L.  Lor'  bless  you  no,  we  got  three  of  'em  now.  You 
know  my  man's  in  the  provision  business,  and  we  got  a  paintei  to 
paint  her  likeness  an'  take  it  out  in  trade;  she  has  just  left  school 
an'  we  want  her  io  be  finished  \v.   water  an'  ile,  an'  be  taught  to 

criticise  the  paintings  in  the  picter  galleries.      My  man he  was 

dead  sot  on  having  the  other  painter  feller  learn  her  and  take  it 
out  in  trade,  but  Mirandy  read  in  the  paper  that  he  didn't  put  the 
best  French  paint  in  his  pictures  an"  I  says  to  Dan,  says  I,  "  Dan'l 
you  can  jest  as  well  afford  to  have  your  daughter  finished  in  water 
an'  ile  as  them  Napthas,  Bacon  is  as  good  as  petroleum  any  day." 
I  had  him  there,  an'  he  gave  me  a  check,  an'  I  want  you  to  make 
an  A  I  artist  of  Miranda  and  do  it  reasonable. 

Miranda  [who  has  been  staring  out  of  the  windoto  upon  the 
street].  Oh  Mar,  there's  the  Napthas'  carriage  across  the  way  and 
Eveleen  has  gone  up  stairs  with  her  drawing  book.  [  Turns  to 
Artist  ]     Why  I  thought  you  gave  Miss  Naptha  painting  lessons. 

Gamboge.  No,  madame,  I  have  no  pupil  by  that  name. 


¥ 


lO 


Ve  Last  Siueet  Thmz  in  Corners. 


JMiranda  [fo/ding  her  ivrap  around  her'\.  O  dear  me,  mar, 
we've  made  a  mistake,  I  want  to  take  lessons  of  the  same  teacher 
Evelecn  Naptha  docs. 

/''.  O.  L.  I-aws-a-me — that's  too  bad;  we've  got  in  the  wrong 
place  and  raised  your  hopes,  young  man.  Hope  wc  haven"',  taken, 
up  your  time.  Mirandy,  lift  your  dress  goin'  down  tliem  dirty 
stairs.  \^Exit. 

Gamboge  \Jhrowing  himself  in  a  chair  despondenlly'\.  The  same 
old  story  !  People  think  no  more  of  an  artist's  time  !  \^A  knock 
at  the  door. ~\  There  it  goes  again  ;  another  infernal  bore  I'll  bet 
my  dinner — if  I  have  money  enough  left  to  get  it. 

[  Opens  the  door.  ] 

Enter  the  MissKS  Alfresco  and  Maud  Brown,  accompanied  by  a 
Sl.KNDER  Young  Man  sucking  the  end  of  his  cane. 

Alfresco.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Gamboge?  Pray  don't  let  us 
disturb  you — commune  with  your  muse — ^^just  as  if  we  were  not 
here,  we  have  only  come  to  stay  an  hour  or  so  and  look  at  the 
pretty  things. 

Gamboge.  I  am  honored.  Miss  Brown. 

[Alfresco  stands  in  a  rapture  before  a  landscape,  meanwhile 
Slender  Young  Man  and  Maud  walk  about  the  studio  criti- 
cising audibly.^ 

Alfresco.  How  sweetly  pretty.  Isn't  it  a  love !  I  think  Papa 
was  severe  on  you  in  the  paper  this  morning,  hut  he  means  it  for 
your  good — we  must  wkA  murmur  at  immolation  on  the  shrine  of 


I 


% 


Ve  Last  Stveet  TJiins:  in  Corners. 


II 


Art.  Bnt  really,  this  is  lovely.  It  makes  me  think  of  one  of 
Prnng's  happiest  bits— I  think  after  the  old  masters,  Papa  dotes  on 
Prang  ;  you  paint  in  sympathy  with  Prang,  don't  you  think  so  ?  I 
am  not  trying  to  flatter  you,  I  assure  you.  Those  cows  are  elegant, 
and  the  tin  pail  in  the  milkmaid's  hand  is  so  true  to  nature !  And 
Maud,  just  look  !  What  a  pre-Raphaelite  effect  that  spot  of  ver- 
digris on  the  pail  handle  has  ! 

Gamboge.  If  your  father  is  severe,  you  are  certainly  too  kind. 

Alfresco.  What  a  clever  fellow  that  Ilors  Concours  is!  And 
such  a  hard-working  person,  I  see  his  paintings  in  almost  every 
gallery  I  visit.     I  dare  say  he  and  you  are  fast  friends. 

Gaviboge  [//emurefy].  Oh  yes,  //ors  Concours  is  a  very  dis- 
tinguished man. 

Maud.  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Gamboge,  that  the  animals  in  your 
paintings  are  nearly  all  out  of  drawing  ? 

Gamboge  [biting  his  lip\.  I  beg  your  pardon? 
[S.  Y.   M.  has  opened  a  private  sketch  book  of  studies  from  the 
nude — he  and  Miss  Alfresco  start  back  shocked.^ 

Alfresco.  0\v  di^-xxX     [Faintly.'] 

Maud.  What  is  the  matter,  sister  mine  ? 

Alfresco.  A  sudden  faintness,  that  is  all— do  not  mind  me,  I 
shall  be  better  presently. 

S.  V.  M.  [putting  up  his  glass  at  Gamboge].  Mr.  Gamboge,  I 
am  surprised  at  you. 

Gamboge  [angrily].  Well,  my  dear  sir,  that  is  a  private  port- 


mmM 


12  Ye  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 

folio,  not  intended  for  visitors'  inspection  ;  those  studies  from  the 
nude — 

S.  K  AI.  [coughing-].  Ahem!  This  conversation  is  getting  to 
too  fine  a  point,  remember,  sir,  there  are  ladies  present. 

Maud  [.ohLsperingl  Why  is  it  that  artists  are  so  immoral  in 
the.r  tendencies  ?  See  !  [Clutching  S.  Y.  M.'s  arm.]  He  has  got 
some  woman  in  that  room.  [Points  to  lay  figure.]  The  horrid 
creature ! 

[Exit  Misses  Brown  lookin.r  reproachfully  and  indi^rnantly  at 
GAMBOGK,  folknved  by  S.  Y.  M.,  who  places  a  tract  on  the  artistes 
easel.  ] 

Gamboge  [dejectedly].     Another   hour  of  this  would  drive   me 
mad.     What  a  lovely  girl  that  Miss  Brown  is  to  look  at.     What  a 
pity  she  is  such  a  fool.     I'll  get  my  dinner  and  take  the  taste  of 
this  out  of  my  mouth.     [Feels  in  his  pockets  for  money.]    Eighteen 
nineteen ;  and  here's  a  five  cent  piece,  twenty-four.     I  must  have 
another  nickle  somewhere_yes-no_it's   a  button  off  my  light 
coat-Ah,  Eureka-ten  cents.     By  Jove,  here's  fortune;    thirty- 
four  cents.     Now  for  dinner  a  la  carte.     I  can  get  beefsteak  and 
two  vegetables  for  twenty-five  cents  and  one  beer  five  cents  and 
have  four  cents  left  for  two  stamps  to  post  Mrs.  DeMontague's, 
and  Thorn's  bills_or  I  could  get  veal  pot  pie  for  twenty  cents' 
and  get  two  beers-I'm  tired  of   veal,  I'll    get  mutton  stew  for 
fifteen  cents-No  I  won't;  the  amount  of  mutton  I've  consumed 
since  the  exchequer  has  been  low  is  simply  horrible  to  contemplate. 
I  shall  be  going  around  on  four  legs-and  hire  myself  out  as  a 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


13 


model  to  Verboeckhoven.  We'll  have  a  fresh  menu.  I  might  get 
soup,  ten  cents;  corned-beef  hash,  ten  cents;  sweet  potatoes,  five 
cents,  and  one  beer — that's  the  ticket!  but  hold,  hold  my  heart, 
Where's  my  supper  to  come  from  ?  I  might  drop  in  Vandyck's  about 
that  time — no,  that  won't  do,  I  was  there  three  days  ago,  and  it's  too 
thin — or  to  speak  less  vulgarly,  it's  not  sufficiently  opaque  and  it's 
hardly  a  week  since  I  took  a  meal  at  his  expense.  Now  I'll  begin 
all  over  again.  Beef's  a  necessity — greens  a  luxury,  so  I'll  say 
beef  stew,  fifteen  cents  {ihey  give  bread  with  it),  and  one  beer — 
twenty  cents,  ten  cents  left  for  supper  and  four  cents  for  postage 
stamps — I  trust  to  Providence  for  breakfast,  don't  give  up  the  ship 
old  fellow  !  Commune  with  your  muse ;  and  dine  on  Art ;  [^makes 
a  face']  I  felt  like  telling  Miss  Brown  that  my  muse  is  a  coy  damsel, 
that  comes  only  to  me  after  the  studio  rent  is  paid,  that  my  inspir- 
ation is  helped  by  a  good  dinner.  Dine  on  Art — What  rot !  \^A 
knock  is  heard"]  Oh — the  deuce — who  is  that  ?  [  Opens  the  door.] 

Enter  a  Motherly  Person,  a  Young  Bride,  ati  Esthetic 
Maiden,  a  Woman  Reporter,  Brown  of  the  Fog  Whistle  and 
a  Child  of  ten  years.  They  smile  at  and  nod  to  Gamhoge  or 
ignore  him,  and  walk  about  the  room  looking  at  the  paintings. 

Motherly  Person,  And  so  you're  a  painter,  why  where's  your 
parents? 

Gamboge.  They  are  dead,  madame. 

Moth.  Per.  Oh,  I  understand.  How  much  can  you  make  a 
week  at  this  business  ? 

Gamboqe.  Well,  really,  madame,  I — the    fact    is  I  can't  say — 


IMHMi 


H 


Ye  Last  Sweet  T/iing  in  Comers. 


Our  remuneration  is  greater  than  in  some   professions,  but    it  is 
often  precarious — 

Young  Bride.  Mr.  Gamboge-I  d.n't  see  anything  I  like  here. 
Can't  you  tell  me  where  I  can  get  a  really  ^W  painting  about 
ten  by  fifteen  inches,  to  fit  in  a  space  on  my  wall  ? 

Gamboge.  You  had  better  go  to  a  dealer,  madame,  I  don't 
paint  for  the  trade. 

CAild.  Mr.  Gamboge,  the  face  of  the  gid  in  the  hammock 
needs  a  little  cadmium  yellow,  and  I  don't  think  the  drapery  of  her 
polonaise  is  true  to  nature. 

[  Gamboge  stares  at  Child  and  looks  about  to  zvhistle  or  to  S7oear.] 
IVoman  Reporter   Iwalking  over  to  Gamboge,  sotto  voce-\.  I'll 
stay  till  these  people  go,  because  I  want  you  to  give  me  some 
items  for  my  Art  article. 
Moth.  Per.  Have  you  got  a  good  boarding-house,  young  man  > 
Gamboge.    \-.^-^or.\  board  exactly-that  is  l-lbreak^down-]. 
Moth.  Per.  Ista.  /ng  at  the  so/a}.  Do  you  sleep  here  all  nicrht, 
or  how  ?  '^ 

Brown  [the  cHt/c].  I  say  Gamboge,  this  isn't  a  bad  thing;  is 
it  a  water  color  or  a  chromo? 
Gamboge.  It  is — 

^sth,-tu  Maiden  {_sweetly\  Mr.  Gamboge,  won't  you  tell  me 
some  pretty  little  anecdote  about  the  Old  Masters,  if  you  are  not 
too  busy  now,  I  want  to  put  it  in  my  diary. 

Moth.  Per.  What  do  you  have  to  pay  for  your  dinner,  general- 
ly  speaking? 


]  V  Last  Sivcet  Thing  in  Corners. 


15 


Gamboge  [^Generally  speaking  this  week  I  haven'' t  had  any  din- 
ner to  speak  about.']  That  depends  on  my  appetite,  maJame. 

Young  Bride.  Mr.  Gamboge,  couldn't  you  give  me  a  card  to 
some  dealer  who  would  let  me  have  a  picture  cheaper  on  account 
of  my  knowing  you  ? 

Gamboge.  I  fear  it  would  not  do  any  good,  madame. 

Moth,  Per.  Do  you  generally  have  a  good  appetite,  or  does  the 
smell  of  your  pictures  siccen  you  of  your  food  ? 

Gamboge.  Yes,  sometimes  I  have  no  appetite  ior  my  dinner — 
\^Aside,  And  sometimes  I  have  no  dinner  for  my  appetite.] 

Child.  Mr.  Gamboge,  didn't  you  make  that  pedestal  out  of  a 
grocery  box  ? 

Moth.  Per.  Whose  child  is  that,  any  relation  of  yours  ? 

Gamboge  [aside,  Heaven  forbid].  I  don't  know  whose  child  it 

is. 

Moth.  Per.  What  is  it  doing  here  ? 

Gamboge.  That  is  a  question  I  fain  would  ask  myself. 

The  Child.  You  need  not  whisper,  say  it  out  loud ;  I  hear  you ; 
I  am  in  pursuit  of  Art  culture.  I  read  the  criticisms  and  I  came 
to  see  if  you  were  a  true  artist  or  a  servile  imitator — Were  you  a 
true  artist  you  would  encourage  me  in  my  thirst  for  Art. 

\_Exit  Child,  slam?ning  door. 

Gamboge  \aside].  I'd  like  to  educate  her  with  an  old  slipper. 

Moth  Per.  I  must  go,  now,  but  I  shan't  forget  you — I  know  the 
way  an'  I'll  come  real  often — Good  bye. 

Gamboge  \Jwwing  her  to  the  door].  Thanks,  madame. 

\^Exit  MoTHKRi.Y  Pkrson. 


i6 


Ye  Last  Siveet  Thing  in  Corners. 


Brown.  By  the  way,  Gamboge,  that's  a  neat  little  thing,  ye 
dog  and  child ;  quite  in  ye  Dutch  spirit  and  feeling.  How  one  of 
my  daughters  would  like  that  for  her  room.     Is  it  ordered. 

Gamboge.  Yes,  it  is  sold.     [Asidel   How  I  wish  it  was. 

Brown.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Gamboge,  yo '  paint  me  a 
first-rate  picture,  and  I'll  hang  it  up  in  our  Queen  Nancy  living-room 
at  my  chateau ;  I  will,  indeed.  You're  no  genius,  Gamboge,  and 
you  haven't  much  talent,  but  you're  no  drone.  There's  a  want  of 
freedom  in  your  handling,  but  you're  an  industrious  fellow  and  I 
want  to  see  you  get  on.  Now  you  paint  me  some  bit  of  sky  and 
some  green,  or  ye  flock  of  sheep  in  ye  thunder-storm,  or  ye  Orien- 
tal sword  dance — I  leave  ye  motif  to  yourself,  and  if  you  do  it 
welly  I'll  have  your  name  put  on  ye  frame.  People  will  be  sure 
to  see  it;  we  have  so  many  visitors  and  it  will  bring  you  in  orders. 
I'll  drop  in  next  week.     Good-day  and  grammercy  ! 

\Exit  Brown. 

Young  Bride.  Mr.  Gamboge,  have  you  a  littje  bit  of  carmine 
you  don't  want,  just  the  tiniest  little  bit?  I  want  to  deccDrate  an 
Etruscan  vase  with  some  Lady  Washington  geraniums,  and  I  am 
too  tired  to  go  all  tlie  way  down  to  Cobalt's  to  buy  it. 

Gamboge  \Jiands  her  a  little  tube'].  There  is  a  trifle  of  it,  ma- 
dame. 

Young  Bride.  Oh,  thanks  !  I'm  awfully  obliged.  Now,  when 
you  paint  something  real  srveet  I'll  send  some  friends  of  mine  to 
look  at  it.  Good-bye.  Wish  I  could  stay  longer,  but  my  husband 
will  be  home  and  he  is  so  lonely  without  me.  \^Exit  Y.  B. 


Ve  Last  Siveet  Thing  in  Corners.  \  7 

[Gamboge  doses  door  after  Young  Bride,  and  turning  around  dis- 
covers /Esthetic  Maiden  asleep  on  the  sofa ;  looks  up  in  em- 
barrassment  at  the  Woman  Reporter,  ivho  is  scribbling  in  a 
note-book.'] 

Woman  Reporter.  I  guess  I've  got  enough  for  three-quarters  of 
a  column.  Can't  you  help  me  spin  it  out  to  a  column,  then  I'll 
get  five  dollars  for  it. 

Gamboge.  If  you  would  suggest  anything,  I  might  tell  you  what 
I  know  about  it. 

IVoman  R.  Oh,  anything  about  artists  to  fill  up;  any  roman- 
tic  incidents  or  cases  of  destitution.  Is  any  painter  going  to  the 
seaside  or  has  he  had  an  order  from  a  rich  man.  Anybody  in 
consumption,  or  going  to  be  married,  or  going  to  Europe  ? 

Gamboge.  Yes,  Chloral  died  last  night. 

Woman  R.  Consumption  ? 

Gamboge.  Yes,  call  it  consumption. 

Woman  R.  Iscribbling]  Go  on ;  I've  got  that.  I'm  afraid  you're 
tired.  I  won't  keep  you  much  longer.  Tell  me  what  sort  of  a 
painter  Gizzard  is,  and  I'll  go. 

Gamboge.  What  sort  ? 

W.  R.  Yes,  what  is  his  style  ?  Tell  me  what  I  had  better  say 
about  his  last  picture;  I  haven't  seen  it,  but  I  asked  Vandyck 
and  Vert  Green,  and  now  you,  and  I  guess  between  you  I  can 
strike  an  average.     What  shall  I  call  it- French  or  American  ? 

Gamboge.  Call  it  Franco-American,  the  newspapers  have  not 
used  that  word  threadbare. 


i8 


Ye  Last  Sweet  Thing  'n  Corners. 


M^,  a.  You  do  look  tived  I  wonder  if  you  don't  have  your 
own  trouble?  I  ''o.  I  tell  you  writing  for  the  papers  is  no  joke, 
and  don't  you  just  earn  your  money.  Pay's  good  enough,  but  it's 
too  slow.  Before  I  jumped  into  this  thing  of  writing  on  Art,  I 
tried  everything — wax  flowers,  whole  art  in  one  lesson,  patent  pro- 
cess; then  I  beaded  parasols  and  did  spatter-work  and  decalco- 
manie  for  a  notion  house ;  then  I  canvassed  Picturesque  America 
and  Duplex  Elliptic  corsets,  but  I  was  getting  into  typhoid  fever 
and  my  head  was  all  of  a  whirl,  and  one  day  I  was  fagged  out  I 
got  into  a  broker's  office,  where  there  was  a  lot  of  gentlemen,  and 
I  got  Picturesque  and  the  corsets  all  mixed  up,  and  they  thought 
I'd  been  drinking,  but  it  was  the  fever  coming  on  me.  After  that 
I  was  ill  ten  weeks ;  I  got  in  the  dollar  store,  ?.nd  there  it  was  nip 
and  tuck,  I  couldn't  get  out  of  debt;  so  I  thought  I'd  make  a 
bold  strike  for  the  Spiritualists,— -"  seventh  daughter  of  a  seventh 
daughter;  tells  family  secrets;  reveals  destinies  ;  shows  husband's 
photograph  ;  eighth  wonder  of  the  world  ;  Ladies,  50  cents ;  no 
Gents;  ring  the  basement  bell."  I  had  an  ad.  all  written  out 
when  T  met  a  young  fellow,  foreman  in  printing  office  of  the  Fog 
Whistle,  and  says  he  to  me,  he  says — why  don't  you  write  on  Art, 
that's  the  latest  dodge?  O  land,  I  says,  I  can't  tell  a  chromeo 
from  an  Old  Master.  Yes,  he  says.  Go  to  a  second-hand  shop 
and  get  a  lot  of  old  art  catalogues  by  Ruskin  and  those  fellows 
and  read  em  up;  so  it  reads  well,  that's  all  the  papers  care.  And 
so  I  did,  and  in  about  a  montli  I  could  tell  which  way  the  cat 
jumped  as  well  as  the  next  one,  and  I  skipped  out  of  that  dollar 
store  lively.     I  move  now  in  tip-top  society,  and  here  I  am. 


Ve  Last  Siveet  Thing  in  Corners.  19 

Camhoi^e.  How  long  did  you  say  you  had  been  writing  on  Art  ? 

W.  R.  About  a  year,— but  I  must  go,  you're  busy,  ain't  you  ? 

Gamboge  {smiling].  I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  be  busy.  I  have 
been  interrupted  so  many  times  to-day, 

IV.  R.  Haven't  you  had  your  dinner  yet?  Don't  be  offended, 
I'm  right  out,  I  am.  If  you're  short,  I  can  ^end  you  a  couple  of 
dollars. 

Gatiiboge  {quickly'\ .  No,  no,  but  I  thank  you, — I  mean  I  have 
had  no  time  to  leave  my  studio. 

W.  R.  Your  wife's  asleep;  she  believes  in  taking  things  easy; 
she's  just  right. 

Gamboge.  The  lady  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  me.     Would  you 

[hesitatingly']  be  good  enough  to  wake  her? 

JV.  R.  [shaking  tEsthetic  Maiden],  Wake  up,  wake  up,  Mr. 
Gamboge  wants  to  go  to  his  dinner. 

ALsthetic  Maiden.  Ah !  I  did  but  dream  then.  Methought  I 
was  in  the  Sistine  chapel  in  Italy. 

W.  R.  To  be  continued  in  our  next.  You  had  better  finish 
your  dream  in  your  own  ijoarcling-house,  and  let  this  man  have  a 
rest.  Good-bye,  Mr,  Gamboge ;  I  am  much  obliged.  Send  you  a 
copy  of  my  Art  article.  [Exit  Woman  Reporter. 

A.  Maiden  [calling  after  IV.  R.].  Woman,  don't  leave  me 
alone,  and  here.  How  indiscreet  of  you.  Wait  for  me.  Adieu, 
Mr.  Gamboge ;  forgive  my  discourteous  haste.  [Exit. 

Gamboge  {solemnly.)  Thank  heaven,  I  am  alone.  I  began  to 
think  I  never  should  'oe  {changes  his  coat).     I  am  going  to  have  a 


h 


«ip 


T 


20 


Vi'  Last  Siveet  Tiling  in  Corners. 


new  rule  about  visitors,  either  that  or  blow  my  brains  out,  that  is 
if  I  haye  any  to  blow  out,  which  I  am  beginning  to  doubt. 
Humph — P'og  Whistle's  impudence,  I'll  do  him  a  picture  when 
he  pays  in  advance  for  it.  The  D.  E.  Corset  canvasser  is  a  caution 
for  veterans,  but  she's  an  ornament  to  society  compared  with  him. 
Wonder  what  Moddle  wanted  so  all  of  a  sudden.  There  he  is 
now. 

Enter  rough  looking  stranger  who  walks  into  the  centre  of  the 
stndio  and  stares  at  the  artist  without  speaking. 

Gamboge.  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  ? 

Stranger.  My  name's  Byles,  Bill  Byles,  can  you  paint? 

Gamboge.  These  are  my  works,  Mr.  Byles. 

Byles  [contemptuously^  I  don't  mean  those  jimcracks,  the  man 
who  has  done  my  painting  work  has  gone  to  Frisco,  and  I  thought 
may  be  I  could  get  a  painter  feller  like  you,  to  do  it  well  enough- 
I  wanted  a  sign  painted.     Could  you  do  it? 

Gamboge  [glancittg  nervously  at  the  door"].  Yes,  I  can  paint  a 
sign  for  you. 

Byles.  Now  I  don't  want  you  to  put  any  high  art  ruffles  in  it. 
I  want  an  oyster  sign.     Could  you  paint  an  oyster  sign  ? 

Gamboge  l/aintly'].  Yes,  I  can  paint  an  oyster  sign.  Wliat 
name  ?  and  how  large  is  it  to  be  ? 

Byles.  No  name  at  all — I  want  a  border  kinder  fancy,  of 
oysters  all  around  it,  and  three  plates  in  the  middle.  Could  you 
paint  an  oyster  plate  ? 

Gamboge,     Oh,  yes. 


Ve  Last  Suwel  Tiling  in  Corners.  21 

Byles.  Then  I  want  you  lo  paint  on  the  plates,  a  raw,  and  a 
fry  and  a  stew.  Hold  up,  I  only  live  a  block  off;  couldn't  I  send 
you  a  raw  and  a  fry  and  a  stew  every  day  until  it  is  done.  Don't 
you  make  no  mistake — I  won't  dock  it  off  your  pay. 

Gamboge  [smiling'].  Tha^iks,  that  would  be  a  good  idea,  they 
would  be  of  great  use  to  me  to  paint  from  \^aside,  "  And  to  eat  after- 
7anr,/s']. 

Bylcs.  And  then  in  some  nice,  handy  way,  couldn't  you  paint 
a  bottle  of  ketchup  and  some  crackers  and — do  you  think  you 
could  paint  a  plate  of  cold  slaw  ? 

Gamboge  [tfyirig  not  to  smile'].  If  you  were  to  send  the  cold 
slaw  I  think  I  could  manage  it. 

Byles.  I  guess  that's  all ;  now  bis  is  bis.  What'll  you  take  to 
paint  a  sign  like  that?     Speak  out,  and  no  gander  dancing. 

Gamboge  [timidly].  Would  fifteen  dollars  be  too  much? 

Byles.  I'll  give  you  twenty  dollars  if  you  do  it  bang  up  this 
week.  Here's  ten  now — the  baJance  on  delivery.  I'll  send  the 
lumber  and  oysters  around  in  two  shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail. 

Gamboge.  Thank  you,  sir,  you  are  very  prompt.  I  wish  all 
my  patrons  were  the  same. 

Byles.  They  ain't;  you  needn't  tell  me;  I  seed  it  in  your  face, 
quick  as  I  came  in.  Hut  I  worked  hard  when  I  started  in  the  busi- 
ness an'  I  can  feel  for  a  fellow  who  has  smatl  sales  and  no  profits. 
Well,  so  long.     Be  good  to  yourself. 

[Exit. 

Gamboge  [looks  at  (en  dollar  note,  puts  it  in  his  vest  pocket,  does 


i«W 


im 


22 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Comers. 


I  I 


a  caper  about  the  room,  then  seats  himself  and  laughs  aloud"]. 
Heaven  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.  I'll  never  lose  faith 
again;  I'll  ask  Moddle  to  dine  with  me  to-day,  and  to-morrow  I'll 
feast  on  oysters.  Oysterman  you're  a  trump;  the  right  and  left 
bower  and  all  the  aces.     [Knocks  on  the  wall."] 

ModdWs  -joice.     Halloo. 

Gamboge.     Come  in  here,  I  want  you. 

ModdWs  voice.  All  right. 

Enter  MoDDi.E. 

Gamboge.  Have  you  had  your  dinner? 

Moddle.  No,  just  going. 

Gamboge.  Dine  with  me.  I  have  had  an  unexpected  streak  of 
luck,  only  a  pot-boiler,  but  enough  for  present  necessities.  [Loud 
knocking  at  the  door.]  Whoever  that  is  I'll  say  plump  out  that  1 
can't  stay,  for  I'm  as  hungry  as  fifteen  bears.     [  Opens  door]. 

Enter  t%vo  men,  one  with  a  large  board,  the  other  7vith  a  covered 

tray, 

1st  man.  Mr.  Gamboge  ? 

Gamboge.  Yes. 

ist  man.  This  board  is  for  you. 

Gamboge.  Put  it  here. 

2nd  man.  Is  your  name  Gamboge  ? 

Gamboge,  It  is. 

2d  Man.  This  here  tray  of  oysters  is  for  you  [places  tray  on 
table] — one  box  stew,  one  big  fry,  one  dozen  raw,  crackers,  ketch- 


Ve  Last  Szueet  Thing  in  Corners. 


23 


up,  cold  slaw,  pepper  sass,  salt,  pepper,  mustard,  knives,  forks, 
spoons,  plates,  pumpkin  pie,  two  pints  of  pale  ale, — all  right,  sir  ? 

Gamboge.  All  right,  my  fine  fellow.  [aside'\  Immensely  all  right. 

Moddle  [whistling'].  You  have  done  it,  haven't  you?  You're 
a  reckless  fellow  to  sqiander  your  substance  in  this  fashion.  I 
did  not  understand  that  wc  —ere  to  dine  here. 

Gamboge  {aside].  Neither  did  I ;   {to  Moudle]  sit  down  while 
its  hot.     Nature  abhora  a  vacuum,  at  least  mine  does. 
[  They  seat  themselves.     GAMroGE  helps  his  friend  plentifully.] 

Moddle.  Here's  richness. 

Gamboge.  They  are  good. 

Moddle.  Good  is  not  strong  enough. 

Gamboge.  Why  don't  you  eat  ?  Here  now,  don't  leave  them 
to  waste. 

Moddle.  Softly,  Gam.  I  was  hungry ;  all  the  same  I  haven't  the 
stomach  of  an  ostrich.  I  have  been  wildly  impatient  to  tell  you 
of  the  brilliant  idea  I  have  conceived  for  paying  off  old  Brown. 
Its  something  in  your  line — now  don't  say  no— its  just  a  nice  job 
for  both  of  us,  especially  you ;  and  Grasshopper  and  Cricket. 

Gamboge.  Grasshopper  and  Cricket? 

Moddle.  Even  so,  I  have  already  talked  it  over  with  them  and 
you  never  saw  two  such  cases  of  inoculation  in  all  your  life, 
they're  going  into  train  at  once. 

Gamboge.  Is  it  a  conundrum  ?     I  hate  conundrums. 

Moddle.  You  want  to  pay  off  old  Brown,  don't  you  ? 

Gamboge.  Don't  I  ? 


91 


,.  f 


ii 


24  Ye  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 

ModMe.  Now  as  we've  finished  our  dinner,  lock  the  door  and 
let  us  get  to  our  work ;  you  get  at  your  sign ;  I  know  what  that 
board  IS  for-and  I  have  some  buttons  to  paint  for  a  Yankee  No- 
tion house;  so  that  we  shall  not  be  disturbed,  write  a  card  on  the 
door  and  say  we  are  out  of  town,  for  a  few  days. 

Gamboge,  Suppose  we  do  it  up  in  style.     Here's  a  good  sized 
card-[....V...  then  read,   aloudl,    ''Gone  to  dine   whh    August 
Belmont;  will  return  in  five  days."     How's  that? 
Moddlf.  A  stroke  of  genius. 

Gambooe.  Now  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  Brown-he  was 
here  to-day.  Curse  his  impudence. 

Moddle.  I  am  going  to  marry  his  daughter. 
Gamboge.  Are  you,  indeed  ? 
Moddle.  I  am,  and  you  shall  marry  his  daughter. 
Gamboge.  Oh,  shall  I  ?     The  same  one  ? 
Moddle.  No,  her  sister. 

Gamboge.  Thank  you,  that  is  certainly^  a  less  startling  way  of 
putting  it.     Much  obliged  ;  small  favors  thankfully  received   etc 
you  know  the  rest.     But  what's  the  plot  ?  '        ' 

Moddle.  You  know  Brown's  craze  for  objets  d'art.  as  he  calls 
them? 

Gatuboge.  Slightly. 

Moddle.  And  you  may  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  daughters- 
passion  for  the  mediceval? 
Gamboge.  Rather. 
Moddle.  And  you  have  heard  that  the  family  "  collect."      ' 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  ift  Corners. 


25 


Gamboge.  A  few. 

Moddle.  And  you  know  they  live  in  a  barn  ? 

Gamboge.  No,  by  Jove,  I  didn't.  That's  the  latest  news  from 
the  seat  of  war  is  it,  well  ? 

Moddle.  Briefly  then,  you  and  I  and  our  upstairs  familiars  must 
play  a  practical  joke  on  them — you  have  the  gift  of  gab — 

Gamboge.  Thank  you. 

Moddle.  So  you  must  be  Dr.  Bric-a-brac,  a  great  collector.  I 
will  be  your  friend,  an  authority  on  old  china,  by  name,  Claude 
Kaolin  ;  we  visit  them  with  a  cart  load  of  curios — which  I  am 
sure  two  ingenious  fellows  as  you  and  I — ahem — ought  to  be  al)le 
to  contrive.  We  will  make  them  lively  curiosities  you  know,  and 
astonish  the  Browns,  somewhat ;  Grasshoppei  >  Cricket  and  Stumps, 
you  know,  who  will  make  the  rafters  of  that  barn  ring — then  in 
the  midst  of  it  we'll  trump-up  a  charge  against  Brown  for  receiv- 
ing stolen  goods,  and  two  mock  policemen  shall  arrest  the  whole 
family.  We  in  propria  persome  appear  in  the  nick  of  time — "  The 
Rescue,"  "  The  Betrothal,"  and  bless  you  my  children  and  ring 
down  the  curtain  to  waltz  time — Eh  ? 

Gamboge.  It  will  take  some  thinking. 

Moddle.  And  more  talking.  A  few  yards  of  rubber  cloth,  some 
pins  and  some  good  accidents  of  color,  and  we  can  make  any- 
thing in  the  market  from  a  giant  in  Satsuma  to  a  mummy  in  old 
Bronze. 

Gamboge.  Success  to  your  plan. 
Moddle.  Our  plan,  if  you  please. 


"  T 

I      1,1 


26  Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 

Gamboge.  Success  to  our  plan,  then,  here's  to  our  future  bride 
and  brother-in-law,  and  confusion  to  their  dad. 

[  They  touch  the  empty  g/asses.} 

End  of  Act  I. 


ACT  II.     HIGH  ART— IN  THE  BARN  BEAUTIFUL. 

Scene  I. — Interior  of  a  barn,  in  the  suburbs  of  a  city,  appointed 
in  the  Eastlake,  Rococo,  Medicaval,  Queen  Nancy  style ;  the 
Misses  Alfresco  Dado  rtw^  Maud  Cashmere  Bouquet  Brown, 
seated  at  embroidery  and  pottery  painting ;  two  ankles  of  their 
handmaiden  COSETTE  appear  beneath  the  portiire  which  divides 
the  culinary  department  from  the  "  living  room.^''  Incidental 
music  during  this  act,  by  Cosette,  addicted  to  smashing  dishes  ; 
an  inquisitive  rooster,  a  crow,  and  a  cow  in  the  distance. 

Enter  Miss  Alhambra  Frieze. 
Alhambra.  I  had  such  a  time  to  find  your  house— barn — cha- 
teau, I  mean.     I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.     How  perfectly  exquisite 
your  new  home  is.     It  \%just  charming.     It  makes  me  think  of 
dear,  darling  Italy. 

Alfresco  {^kissing  her  in  rapture^  You're  just  one  naughty  girl 
for  not  coming  to  us  before. 

Maud.  Indeed  you  are.     We  have  been  pining  to  see  you.    We 
have  so  much  to  tell  you. 

Alfresco.  I  knew  you  would  like  our  house.  Is  not  this  a  sym- 
phony in  homes  ?  \_Music  by  Cosette  and  the  cow.'\ 
Alhambra.  I  have  been  neglectful,  but  I  am  coming  real  often 
now.  What  a  little  paradise  !  So  aesthetic  !  so  artistic  !  It  makes 
me  think  of  a  grand  chord  in  one  of  Wagner's  hymns  or  a  poem 
by  Browning.     Don't  you  feel  as  if  you  were  in  heaven  ? 


28 


Ye  Last  Swecf  Thing  in  Corners. 


Alfresco.  Yes,  Alhambra,we  are  sweetly  tranquil  \jioise  of -dias/i. 
ing  dishe:  is  heard  behind  the  viediaval  hangings'\;  our  lives  are 
as  simple  and  primitive  as  the  ancient  Greeks.  No  bustle,  no  din 
of  the  hollow  world  [Cosette  smashes  a  plate'^,  no  bickerings  no 
heart-burnings,  such  as  are  felt  by  those  who  live  a  fashionable 
life,  do  we  know.  We  revel  in  the  art  works  of  the  mighty  Past. 
We  commune  daily  with  the  spirits  of  the  masters  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  Oh,  how  I  wish  it  were  the  Middle  Ages  now,  Alhambra. 
But  we  are  cheerful;  we  do  not  repine;  but  patiently  hope  that 
the  time  may  come  when  something  worthy  the  name  of  Art  shall 
be  done  in  this,  our  own  country.  Cosette,  our  maid ;  Angelico 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  our  page,  attend  to  our  wants,  which  are  few 
and  simple.  At  night  we  gather  about  our  sacred  tripod  and  papa 
reads  to  us  his  criticisms,  or  from  some  fragmentary  paper  he  may 
have  written  during  the  day  to  elevate  American  Art. 

Alhambra.  Your  embroidery  is  too  lovely  for  anything.  Is  it 
your  own  design  ? 

Alfresco.  Yes,  that  is  to  say,  almost  my  own  design.  I  got  it  in 
part  from  a  funeral  pall  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  I  am  going  to 
have  it  made  up  for  a  window  bench,  if  in  the  neighborhood  I  can 
find  a  carpenter  with  a  feeling  for  his  business.  Even  now  Ben- 
venuto is  looking  for  one  for  me. 

Alhambra.  What  a  lovely  bust!  And  how  beautifully  that  tor- 
chon  lace  ruffle  looks  around  its  neck  ! 

Alfresco.  I  am  glad  you  like  it,  dear.  It  is  a  genuine  antique. 
That  is  just  the  corner  for  a  bust— the  toned  white  of  the  marble 


Vc  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners, 


29 


against  the  blue  necktie  sympathizes  with  our  rather  severe  scheme 
of  color,  papa  thinks. 

Enter  A.  B.  C.  Baxter,  the pa^e. 

Alfresco.  Speak,  Benvenuto. 

Ben  \^qrinning'\.  Couldn't  fin'  no  Midinville  carpenter,  Mis' 
Frisker,  dar  ain't  none  ob  dat  ar  in  de  town. 

Alfresco.  You  have  not  searched  diligently.  Go,  ask  at  the  post 
office. 

Ben.  I  dun  went  dar. 

Alfresco.  Did  you  inquire  at  the  mill  ? 

Btn.  Yes,  Mis'  Frisker,  an  de  miller's  wife  said  she  nebber 
heard  ob  no  mechanic  ob  dat  style. 

Alfresco,  Oh,  the  ignorance  of  the  masses !  I  told  you  to  say 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Ben.  Yes,  Mis'  Frisker,  I  done  said  dat  it  peared  like  how  you 
wanted  a  middle-aged  carpenter,  an'  she  tole  me  to  ax  you  if  a 
young  man  ob  twenty-five  years  wouldn't  suit  you  ? 

Maud.  There,  go  to  your  duties,  stupid  minion.  Alfresco,  my 
sister,  we  must  needs  wait  until  we  can  pick  up  something  in  Lon- 
don or  Paris  or  Vienna. 

Alfresco.  Don't  loiter,  Benvenuto ;  if  you  have  nothing  else  to 
do,  go  to  Cosette  and  paste  some  tasteful  chromos  on  the  Hispano- 
Moresque  pie-plates  your  master  brought  from  the  museum  yester- 
flay.  [5'jrjV  Benvenuto. 

Alliatiihra.  T  do  so  want   to  get  an    ecclesiastic  chair   for  my 


I 


30 


Ye  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


l)Oudoir.     I  have  hunted  all  over  the  city  for  it  and  I  have  been  in 
all  the  artistic  second-hand  shops  without  success. 

Maud.  You  can  get  it  at  Fraction's. 

Alhambra.  No,  dear,  I  tried ;  they  are  bought  up.  Mr.  Frac- 
tion said  he  could  make  d.  fortune  if  he  could  supply  the  demand 
for  ecclesiastic  chairs. 

Alfresco.  Must  it  be  second-hand,  Alhambra,  dear? 

Al/iai/ibra  \^^rep7-oachfulIy'\.  Yes,  of  course. 

Alfresco.  Then,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  have  it  made  to  order. 
You  can  get  any  second-hand  bargain  duplicated ;  no  one  could 
ever  tell  that  it  was  new  if  well  done.  You  know  Judge  Plank- 
down's  cabinet  of  rare  Dutch  marquetry  of  the  i6th  ceniury, 
Fraction  made  that  for  him  in  six  weeks,  brass  clasps  and  all. 

Alhambra.  But  where  is  Connie,  all  this  time,  and  how  is  her 
affaire  tendre  progressing  ? 

Alfresco.  O,  Connie  is  such  a  trial  to  us ;  she  nearly  worries  our 
lives  out  with  her  irreverence  for  Art.  She  ridicules  everything ; 
our  artistic  home,  our  artistic  labor  and  our  artistic  hopes.  You 
know  Dr.  Bricabrac  and  Mr.  Kaolin,  the  great  connoisseurs? 

Alhavibra.  I  haven't  met  them,  but  I  have  heard  of  them,  and 
am  wild  to  be  introduced. 

Alfresco.  Give  me  that  pleasure,  they  are  valued  friends  of  ours  : 
but  I  was  about  to  say  that  Connie  treats  them  very  rudely,  and 
she  actually  told  them  she  was  going  to  be  married,  that  she  might 
live  among  sane  people  once  more. 


n 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Tiling  in  Corners. 


31 


Maud.  Where  is  she  ?  I  wish  her  to  go  buy  some  crewels  for 
roe.     [6a//f]  "Connie." 

\_Connie' s  voice  behind  the porti^re'\  I'm  coming  [pettishly']. 

Enter  in  riding  habit. 

A/fresco.  Where  are  you  going  ? 

Connie.  Going  for  a  gallop  with  Dr.  Sam.  How  d'y  do,  Miss 
Frieze?     How's  the  Middle  Ages  at  your  house? 

A/fresco.  Connie,  will  you  ever  stop  your  slang?  I  do  wish 
you  would  be  more  dignified  and  not  spend  all  your  time  riding 
over  the  village;  people  will  think  it  very  strange  of  papa  to  allow 
his  youngest  child  to  wander  about  alone. 

Connie.  That  isn't  the  only  thing  that  the  people  in  these  dig- 
gings think  strange.  This  ranche  of  ours  is  the  talk  of  the  place. 
Only  this  morning  I  heard  we  were  travelijig  Gipsies,  and  the 
Winslow's  gardener  asked  Cosette  if  there  was  madness  in  our 
family. 

Alfresco.  There  have  been  noble  sufferers  for  the  cause  of  Art 
before  us.  We  can  afford  to  treat  the  sneers  of  common  people 
with  lofty  contempt.  What  other  solace  do  you  need  than  the 
study  of  Egyptian  pottery  ?  What  other  society  than  your  em- 
broidery frame  and  your  Mediaeval  crewel  samplers? 

Connie.  I'm  not  going  to  live  in  a  junk  shop  for  the  sake  of 
Art  or  anything  else,  nor  spend  my  time  sewing  crazy  dandelions 
on  kitchen  toweling,  nor  pasting  chromos  on  frying  pans,  nor  any 
high  or  low  art  moonshine.     I  admire  pretty  things  and  love  jiic- 


3^ 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  hi  Comers. 


r 


\ 


tures  and  I  can  tell  an  engraving  from  an  oil  painting,  which  is 
more  than  half  your  art  critics  can  do,  but  I  don't  want  to  have 
"Art"  dinned  into  my  ears  morning,  noon  and  night. 

Maud.  Alfresco,  dear,  let  her  alone,  she  will  never  be  like  the 
rest  of  us,  no,  not  if  she  lives  till  doomsday, 

Connie.  I  don't  want  to  be.  I  am  going  to  marry  a  man  with 
a  reputation  to  sustain  and  it  won't  help  him  if  it  gets  abroad  that 
he  is  going  to  marry  into  a  crazy  family. 

Alhambra.  Why,  Connie,  how  unkind  of  you. 

Co7tnie.  They  may  as  well  hear  it  from  me  as  from  strangers. 
Every  time  we  go  out  we  are  stared  at  as  if  we  were  bedlamites, 
and  I  am  getting  tired  of  it. 

Alfresco.  Dr.  Sam  is  at  the  bottom  of  this.  It  is  because  of  his 
influence  that  you  are  so  impertinent ;  I  know  he  dislikes  us,  but 
if  you  had  any  family  pride  you  would  resent  bis  insolent  allusions 
to  our  artistic  home. 

Connie.  He  doesn't  dislike  you. 

Enter  Dr.  Sam. 

Dr.  Sam.  Indeed  I  do  not  dislike  you.  Alfresco,  I  think  you 
and  Maud  and  my  Connie  are  the  loveliest  girls  in  America  and  I 
would  do  anything  to  prove  my  regard  for  you — that  is  to  say,  I 
would  do  anything  in  reason,  but  I  can't  neglect  my  patients  for 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  I  couldn't  mix  the  Mediaeval  medicines  with 
nineteenth  century  doses — upon  my  word,  I  could  not.  I'm  a 
radical  and  all  my  patients  are  uncompromisingly  of  this  day  of 


!      W 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


33 


their  own.  I  don't  think  I  could  get  one  of  thorn  to  take  a  Queen 
Anne  pill  or  an  Elizabethan  mustard  plaster  to  save  iny  life.  They 
would  dismiss  me  first,  and  if  my  practice  is  ruined  (Bonnie  and  I 
can't  get  marrieil.  \_Sits  down  on  a  plaque  which  xMaud  has  painted 
and  transfers  the  design  to  his  white  trousers.']  Oh,  the  dev —  I 
beg  your  pardon.     Here's  a  nice  mess. 

Connie.  Oh  plague  take  your  old  pottery  !  Look  at  my  Sam's 
trousers.     [Begins  to  cry."] 

Maud  {sobbing].  Well,  what  did  he  sit  down  on  my  early  Italian 
plaque  for — he's  just  ruined  it ! 

Dr.  Sam.  Oh,  dear,  it  is  going  through.     Is  it  poison  ? 

Maud.  No,  I  just  wish  it  was  [sobbing]. 

Alfresco.  Don't  cry,  Maud,  don't  cry.     Dr.  Sam  you're  a  brute. 

Dr.  Sam.  Alfresco  Dado  Brown,  I  am  behaving  like  an  angel ; 
look  at  my  trousers  ! 

Alf-esco.  Look  at  poor  Maud's  piaque  ! 

Dr.  Sam.  Look  at  my  trousers  ! 

Connie.  Come,  Sam  dear,  I'll  wash  it  off  with  benzine.  Don't 
you  ever  go  near  their  horrid  old  paint  pots  again.     Come,  Sam. 

Dr.  Sam.  Good  bye,  ladies.  Destiny  and  my  trousers  i,all  me 
hence.  Adieu  Miss  Frieze ;  when  you  find  yourself  venting  the 
holy  emotions  of  your  soul  in  early  Italian  maiolica — think  of  my 
trousers.  [  Exit  Connie  atid  Dr.  Sam  . 

Enter  Ben. 

Ben.  Mis'  Frisker  the  two  gemmen   what  bri.  js  de  hot  objecks 


MBl 


■.     \ 


I 


34  Ve  Last  Szvect  Tiling  in  Comers. 

are  coming  up  de  road  in  a  carriage,  an'  days  got  a  truck  follerin 
'em. 

Alfresco.  I'm  so  glad.  Bathe  your  eyes  Maud  ;  don't  go  Al- 
hambra,  Dr.  Bricahrac  and  his  friend  are  coming,  you  must  stay 
and  see  the  curios  he  is  going  to  lend  us  while  his  new  museum 
is  being  built.  Some  of  them  are  priceless.  Benvenuto,  attend 
the  door.  [^>'^  ^^kn. 

Enter  Dr.  Bricabrac  and  Kaomn. 

Brie.  Ah,  ladies,  I  am  delighted  to  greet  you  once  more,  this 
is  the  happiest  picture  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life,  your  home  is 
like  a  dream  of  the  past,  setting  off  your  beauty,  like  chased  gold 
does  the  gem.  Are  ycm  all  quite  well?  Ah,  this  is  your  valued 
friend  Miss  Frieze?  rerniit  me  to  introduce  my  friend,  Mr. 
Kaolin ;  Claude,  this  is  Miss  Frieze  of  whom  you  have  heard. 

Miss  F.  Delighted  to  meet  you,  sir. 

Kaolin.  The  pleasure  is  mine,  madame. 

Dr.  B.  I  have  brought  the  curios  which  you  were  so  apprecia- 
tive as  to  wish  to  see,  and  if  you  think  they  will  till  a  void  in  your 
genile  souls  until  my  museum  is  finished,  I  will  gladly  leave  them 
with  you.     Ah — shall  we  go  over  the  catalogue  at  once. 

Alfresco.  Please  do,  dear  doctor. 

Maud.  By  all  means,  doctor. 

Dr.  B,  My  servant  and  Benvenuto  shall  bring  them  to  me  as  I 
read  from  my  catalogue.  The  first  is  a  pre-Raphaelite  textile  Fabric, 
No.  3007.     {Produces  '*  basket'^  bed-quilt. ^^ 

Chorus.   How  sweet  !   How  boldly  designed  ! 


.i 


(i 


Ve  Last  Stveet  Thing  in  Corners. 


35 


Dr.  B.  [rfm/.q.  No.   42^1,  M,  Night  cap  of  an  early  Dutch 
painter.   I  Produces  a  bottle  of  Schiedam  Schnapps. "[ 
Chorus.  Ah,  indeed. 

Alfresco.  There  is  something  so  instructive  in  the  customs  of 
that  quaint  jieople. 

Dr.  B.  \^reads'\.  No.  7,444  is,  pre-historic  cleansing  utensil 
from  the  recent  excavation  in  Ohio.  [Exhibits  a  white-wash  brush, 
much  7vorn.'\ 

Chorus.  Ah,  j'wdeed. 

Alfresco.  Our  country  has  a  great  unwritten  history. 
Dr.  B.  No.  7,346  I,   An  Anglo-Hibernian  vegetable  masher. 
[Exhibits  Kehoe  club.'\ 
Chorus.  Ah,  indeed. 

Dr.  B.  No.  1,643,020,  n,  A  genuine  Greek  Cratere.  [Pro- 
duces a  basket-covered  demijohn. "l 

Chorus.  Ah,  indeed.     Isn't  it  sweet  ? 
Dr.  B.  [aside^ .  Yes,  there's  sugar  in  it. 
Kaolin  [aside\.  And  it's  the  genuine  crather  too. 
Dr.  B.  [reads'^.  No.  3000,  an  Athenian  saut6  pan. 
Chorus.  Ah,  indeed.     My  gracious  ! 

Alfresco.  Is  it  not  rather  deep  for  a  saut6  pan  ?  At  our  cooking 
class  we  don't  use  one  more  than  four  inches  deep. 

Dr.  B.  Ah,  yes,  but  allow  me  to  explain.  This  shape  was  sug- 
gested to  an  Athenian  chSf  by  a  Phoenician  cook  who  had  been 
employed  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Pharoahs.  It  was  used  to  prepare 
a  dish  of  which  afterwards  the  Greeks  became  inordinately  fond. 


)  f 


r,i 


. 


^ 


I  <' 


I- 


36 


)  V  Zrt-jr^  Szucci  ' riling  in  Corners. 


They  let  a  fewouncesdf  butter  brown  in  the  pan  and  then  put  in  a 
layer  of  onions,  then  a  porter-house  steak,  and  finally  a  double 
layer  of  onions ;  in  fact,  my  dear  Miss  Brown,  it  was  the  ancient 
method  of  preparing  the  pastoral  dish — the  classic  beefsteak 
smothered  in  onions. 

Aifreuo  [hreaiking  freely  and  lon£^'\.  I  am  so  glad  I  know.  I 
must  make  note  of  it  for  our  cooking  class. 

Enter  Ben  and  Murphy  ivith  large  curio. 

Pr.  B.  Gently  Ben,  gently,  easy  Murpliy,  easy  my  man.  This 
my  friends,  No.  11,078,  F.  is  an  Egyptian  mummy,  age  one  hun- 
dred thousand  years. 

\^Exit  Ben  and  Murphy. 

Alfresco.  Isn't  it  a  little  thing?  I  thought  they  were  large. 
Poor  Mummy.  Heartless  Time,  to  have  caused  you  to  shrink 
thus. 

Mummy  \^asid€'\.  Little!  Shrunk  !  It  is  a  wonder  there  is  any- 
thing lelt  of  me  after  the  shaking  I  got  in  that  wagon  ! 

Enter  Ben  and  Murphy. 

Dr.  B.  Steady  men,  be  careful.  Be  careful,  that  bit  of  old  egg 
sh-jll  china  cost  me  a  pretty  penny.  Should  feel  awfully  grieved 
if  you  broke  any  part  of  it. 

Bit  of  old  China  \^aside'\.  So  should  I. 

Dr.B.  \^reads'\.  No,  8,642,  Y.  a  large  Chinese  Mandarin,  portrait 
figure  of  Jim-lung-jam-lee,  a  wealthy  potentate,  contemporaiy  with 
Confucius. 

Alfresco.  Oh,  what  an  amusing  creature,  I  never  saw  one  so 


I '! 


Ye  Last  Sztueet  Thing  in  Corners.  37 

large  before.  It  is  almost  life-size.  Can  it  rock  itself  ?  [AttemNs 
to  move  the  Mandarin,  thereby  putting;  the  wooden  bowl  in  which  it 
is  placed,  in  motion,  "^ 

Alhambra  [touchini^-  ii'\.  It  looks  just  as  if  it  could  speak  if  it 
had  a  mind  to. 

Maud.  Please  rock  it  Dr.  Bricalirac. 

Dr.   B.    Certainly.   Rock-a-by,  Mandy.     ^Aside   to  the  bit  of 
China}.     If  you  spread  out  you  arms,  Cricket,  I'll  ihrash  you. 

A/fresco.  Let  me  !  Don't  it  go  nice  !  I  could  just  rock  you  all 
day,  you  funny  old  curio.  [  Curio  winks  at  her.-]  Oh,  my  dear ! 
oh  doctor!  what  is  the  matter  with  its  eyes? 

ZJr.  B.  Il  is  in  a  bad  light.  Allow  me  to  move  it  here.  [_  Aside 
to  the  bit  of  china].  Now,  Cricket,  behave  yourself,  or  I'll  give 
you  Jersie.  It  isn't  time  for  you  to  cut  up  your  shines  yet. 
Enter  Bkn  and  Murphy  xvith  a  statue. 
Dr.  B.  Easy  my  lads,  steady  now.  Very  careful  Murphy,  put 
it  on  the  pedestal.  The  last  and  best.  No.  5,270.  An  old  Greek 
marble,  "  Innocence  sucking  its  thumb,"  sculptor  unknown.  It 
is  supposed  to  have  been  discovered  by  a  Dutch  general  in  a  vast 
plain,  which  legend  as.^igiicd  as  the  original  Garden  of  Eden. 
It  has  been  the  subject  of  much  varied  and  learned  criticism  and 
was  probably  executed  when  Greek  art  was  in  its  decline. 

Bit  of  old  China  [aside  to  statue].  If  you're  an  c'd  marble,  I 
sposc  I'm  a  chiny  alley. 

Dr.  B.  [aside].  Cricket,  behave  yourself. 

Alfresco.  Is  it  not  a  gem  ?  How  shall  we  ever  thank  you,  doctor  ? 


mf»mm<  l»  »■,< 


mm 


38 


Ve  Last  Stveet  Tiling  in  Corners. 


Maud.  Indeed,  doctor,  I  wish  we  could  thank  you  sufficiently 
but  words  are  weak  to  express  our  joy. 

Alfresco.  How  happy  we  shall  be!  I'll  never  be  melancholy 
again,  for  with  those  wonderful  objets  tV  art  about  me  I  shall 
have  a  wealth  of  thought  which  will  absorb  my  inmost  spirit  the 
long  days  to  come.  Time  cannot  pall  or  annoy  with  these  about 
me.  I  shall  commune  with  them  and  the  masters  which  bade  them 
be  and  endure,  and  I  shall  be  happy. 

Kaolin  \^aside^.  If  she  isn't,  it  won't  be  Cricket's  fault. 

Alfresco.  But  while  we  are  admiring  our  new  possessions,  we 
are  forgetting  your  creature  comforts.  You  must  be  hungry  after 
your  long  drive.  Benvenuto  shall  bring  the  bread  and  wine. 
What!  Ho!  Without  there !  Who  waits!  [Stops  in  confusion 
and  presses  her  hand  over  her  brow,"]  I — I — really  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  occasionally  I  get  in  this  manner  of  speaking.  In 
fact,  ever  since  we  have  occupied  our  new  home,  I  seem  to  live  in 
the  middle  ages  and  relapse  into  the  phraseology  of  olden  time.  I 
think  it  must  be  the  eflfect  of  the  new  curios. 

Maud.  And  so  does  papa.  Don't  you  remember,  dear,  it  was  or'y 
the  other  night  when  Cosette  surprised  papa  by  snuffing  the  candle 
into  the  salad  instead  of  the  tray,  he  exclaimed,  "  By  my  Hali- 
dame,  wench,"  and  sometunes  he  says,  '♦  Gramnercy,"  he  declares 
he  cannot  help  it. 

Enter  Ben.  with  tea,  wine  and  fruit.      The  Misses  Brown  press 
their  gttests  to  partake  of  the  food. 
Kaolin.  What  a  wonderful  eye  for  color  you  ladies  have.     The 


Ve  Last  Szvcet  Thing  in  Corners.  ^g 

grouping  on  the  tea  tal>Ie  is  as  admirable  a  symphonic  treatment 
as  I  have  ever  seen. 

Dr.  B.  And  the  subjective  tones  of  the  bread  and  butter  against 
the  green  plate  is  a  marriage  of  sweet  hues. 

Maud.  Oh,  doctor,  you  talkyW/  like  one  of  papa's  Art  articles. 

Dr.  B.  Now  really  Miss  lirown,  that  is  high  praise  indeed,  it  is 

a  bonus  of  honor  which  my  modesty  will  not  permit  me  to  appro- 

I'riate.      I  never  could  talk  like  your  respected  father.      \^Aside.'^ 

Heaven  forbid  ! 

Alhambra  [in  terror'].  Oh — oh — ouch! 
Alfresco  and  Maud.   What  is  the  matter,  Alhambra,  dear? 
Alhambra.  Some  horrid  creature  is  in  this  apple  and  has  stung 
uic  in  the  mouth.     Oh  my  goodness  how  it  hurts  !     Do  you  think 
it  will  swell  ? 

Alfresco  \_falteringly].  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  pins  which  I  put 
in  the  little  bows  of  i)lue  ribbon  to  decorate  them;  the  glue  would 
not  stick  and  I  put  a  pin  through  tiie  centre  of  the  bow.  I  am  so 
sorry  it  r.in  in  your  moutii,— but  dou"t  you  think  it  a  pretty  idea? 
1  got  it  from  reading  a  criticism  of  papa's  on  the  English  water- 
colorists.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  apples  were  too  warm  a  red 
and  I  thought  a  little  pale  blue  ribbon  would  tone  it  down ;  but 
blue  is  such  a  diflicult  color  to  handle. 

Dr.  B.  {^aside].  Darling  Alfresco,  may  I  not  see  you  alone  for 
two  fleeting  moments  ? 

Alfresco  \_aside\.  I  shall  try  to  gel  rid  of  Alhambra,  and  sister 
and  Mr.  Kacjiin  will  be  glad  to  walk  out  in  the  garden  together. 


iSBmmm 


40 


Ve  Last  Szveet  Thing  iit  Corners. 


Dr.  B.  {aside^  Do,  my  angel. 

Alfresco.  Alhambra,  dear,  I  fear  your  poor,  dear  mouth  is  swell- 
ing.    I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  but  it  is  looking  dreadfully. 

Alhambra.  Oh,  is  it  ?     What  shall  I  do  ? 

Dr.  B,  If  you  were  at  home,  a  piece  of  cold  raw  beef  laid  on  it 
would  remove  the  swelling. 

Alhambra.  Then  I  must  go  at  once.  No,  dear,  I  really  can't 
stay  any  longer;  I  must  go  home  or  I  shall  be  a  fright.  I'll  come 
soon  again.  Good-bye  dear.  [Kisses  the  Misses  Brown  and 
makes  a  feint  of  kissing  Dr.  13.  ;  discovers  her  mistake  and  retires 
in  confusion.'^  Oh,  dear,  I  am  so  ill  I  don't  know  what  I  am 
doing.  \_Exit  Al.  b. 

[Bkic.  rtMri' Alfresco,  Mr.  Kaolin  and  Maud  statid  in  couples 

conversing  in  a  lo2v  tone,  the  curios  meanwhile  are  helping  them- 
selves to  the  food  with  relish  and  pantomime. "^ 

Alfresco.  Maud,  dear. 

Maud.  Sister  mine. 

Alfresco.  Don't  you  think  Mr.  Kaolin  would  like  to  see  our 
dear  old  apple  trees  ? 

Maud.  Claude,  do  you  love  apple  trees? 

Kaolin.  Dearest  Maud,  I  adore  them, — next  to  you. 

Maud.  Sh;iil  we  go  for  a  walk  then  ? 

Kaolin.  With  all  my  heart.      \  Exit  MAUD  and  Kaolin,  Z.  D. 

Dr.  B.  My  darling  Alfresco,  do  you  truly  love  me  ? 

Alfresco.  Yes,  my  very  own,  you  know  I  do. 

Dr.  B.  I  would   fain  believe  you,  but  you  have   known  me  so 


Ve  Last  Sivect  Tiling  in  Corners. 


41 


short  a  time,  and  this  is  a  deceitful  world, — at  least  I  have  found 
it  So,  and  sometimes  the  fear  haunts  me  that  my  vanity  expects  too 
much,  and  that  my  dear  little  duck  of  a  decorator,  my  sweet 
mignonne  pottery  putterer,  my  macrame  fringed  cherub,  my  fond- 
est stork  embroidered  anti-macassar,  my  precious  darling  decalco- 
manie,  my  iridescent  Venitian  glass  goblet,  my  cameo,  my  intag- 
lio, my  whole  catalogue  of  gems,  loves  me  for  my  curios  and  not 
for  myself ;  but  you  do  love  me,  sweetheart,  don't  you?  Say  it 
again.  Say  to  me,  that  if  I  were  only  a  poor  artist  with  five  thou- 
sand a  year,  and  had  not  a  museum  to  my  name,  nor  a  bit  of  early 
Italian  maioiica  to  my  back,  nor  the  shadow  of  an  Egyptian 
mummy  to  foster  an  art -atmosphere  in  our  home,  but  only  my 
heart  to  love  you,  my  eyes  to  adore  you,  and  my  hands  to  work 
for  you,  and  keep  your  own  like  white  rose  petals,  and  my  broad 
breast  for  you  to  rest  upon,  and  keep  your  dear  little  tootsy- 
wapsies  from  the  cold,  cold  ground,  would  my  sweet  darling  lovey 
dovey  decorated  pre-Raphaelite  love  me  then,  would  her? 

Alfresco.  Ah,  my  own,  my  very,  veriest  own,  my  chosen  Bric- 
abrac,  collector  of  collectors,  more  steadfast  than  Cloisnee,  more 
precious  than  "old  blue," — how  the  very  name  thrills  me  with 
fond  association.  Yes,  even  if  I  found  you  had  deceived  me,  that 
instead  of  being  a  great  connoisseur  I  were  to  find  in  you  a  mere 
worldling,  a  merchant  millionaire,  after  what  has  transpired,  I 
should  love  you  and  be  your  wife. 

Dr.  B.  Oh,  Miss.  \_They  e)}ibrace.'\ 

Alfresco  \_diseni^ag>itf:;  herself'\.  But  now  Iiet  me  show  you  the 


1-^ 


wm 


42 


Vc  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Conicrs. 


little  dower  I  am  going  to  bring  you,  the  things  I  have  made  for 
our  new  home  with  my  very  own  hands.  Help  me  to  lift  this 
box,  dearest. 

£>r.  B.  Ah,  this  is  my  charge. 

[Lifts  chest  to  centre  0/ stage.     Alfresco  opens  it.] 

Alfresco.  Here  is  your  smoking  cap  and  wrapper,  trimn>ed  with 
macrame  lace,  and  here  is  an  inlaid  clothes  pole  for  the  kitchen, 
and  here  is  a  cartoon — a  design  for  the  iron  gate  of  a  private 
menagerie,  when  we  can  afford  one, — and  here  are  some  bits 
of  old  china,  I  did  them ;  and  here  is  a  set  of  embroidered  cheese 
cloths  to  dust  the  curios, — and  here — don't  blush — I  have  taken 
some  liberty  with  your  wardrobe  and  have  made  you  some  shirts, 
— that  is  to  say,  I  bought  them  made,  but  decorated  them  myself; 
you  will  think  of  me  when  you  wear  them,  won't  you,  dear  ? 
[Spreads  out  the  decorated  shirt.]  Don't  you  think  the  sunflower 
design  on  the  front  bold  and  original? 

Dr.  B.  I  do  indeed,  dear.  I  am  sure  it  will  create  a  sensation 
on  the  avenue.     [Aside]  Oh,  Lord. 

Alfresco.  I  knew  you  would  admire  it.  And  I  have  a  set  of  de- 
signs here  for  our  best  dinner  dishes,  each  represents  the  rise  and 
fall  of  every  art  of  every  country,  and  in  the  middle  I  have  en- 
twined our  monograms,  and  here's  a  little  place  I  have  left  bare 
for  our  crest, — that  is  if  we  can  look  up  our  genealogy  and  get 
one.  I  had  rather  find  one  from  the  Browns  in  ancient  history 
than  have  one  made  at  Tiffany's  for  us.  But,  dearest,  haven't  you 
a  coal-of-urms  in  your  family  ?     We  really  must  have  one. 


Ve  Last  Siveet  Tiling  in  Corners.  43 

Dr.  B.  Oh,  yes  ;  our  family  were  distinguished  in  the  early 
Irish  wars;  on  the  distaff  side  they  were  all  Borhues.and  the  coat 
of  arms  was  a  green  field  bearing  on  it  a  shiilaly  rampant. 

Alfresco.  How  delightful !     Won't  you  hunt  it  up  for  us,  like  a 
dear?     I'd  just  love  to  have  it  on  our  coupe,  we  won't  have  a 
coupe~^e\\  have  a  sweet  low-backed  car,  shan't  we? 
Dr.  B.  It  would  be  distractingly  piciuresque,  certainly. 
Alfresco.  And  we'll  have  a  Shiilaly   Rampant  blazoned  on  each 
side,— why  that  reminds  me— I  think   1  have  some  family  docu- 
ments belonging  to  you ;  you  dropped  it  out  of  your  pocket-book 
when  you  were  here  last.     It  is  so  quaint  and  queer.     I  showed 
it  to  Maud,  and  she  said,  she  thought  if  we  took  it  to  an  Oriental 
scholar  he  could  decipher  it  for  us,  but  I  feared  you  might  not 
like  it,  and  thought  it  better  to  ask  you  to  explain  it  to  me. 

Dr.  B.  lal>sently-\.  You  were  a  thoughtful  darling.     I  don't  re- 
member losing  any  hieroglyphic  paper. 

Alfresco  Itroduces  little  folded  paper^.  First,  there  is  three 
curious  round  things  like  pills,  then  there's  a  dash  and  some  dots, 
and  something  that  looks  like  "doll"  and  the  "250,"  and  then 
beneath  it  says,  "  not  answerable  in  case  of  fire,  moth  or  robbery," 
— why  what's  the  matter? 

Dr.  Brie  itaking  paper  from  her].  Yes  it  is— it  is_il's  a  family 
paper,  you  were  quite  right,  it  is  a  family  paper  and  was  given  me 
by  my  uncle  l„side,  Uncle  Simpson']. 

Alfresco.  I  thought  it  was  a  laliel  from  some  r.ire  curio. 

Mr.  Brie.   You  are  gifted  with  divination  my  sweetest— it  is— 


^^^Sp 


i  ? 


44  Ve  Last  Szveet  Thing  in  Corners. 

[aside'\  It  is  the  ticket  of  my  dress  coat,  precious  rare,  I  have  not 
seen  it  for  nearly  a  year. 

Alfresco.  Won't  you  tell  me  what  it  means  ?  You  ought  to  have 
no  secrets  from  me. 

Dr.  Brie  [desperaieiy'].  Well,  daughter  of  Eve,  you  see  these 
three  round  things  are  the  emblems,  or  ancient  marks  of  the  great 
de  Medicis,  and  in  reality  mean  pills,  for  the  family  were  renowned 
centuries  ago  for  their  discoveries  in  medicine.  [Aside']  How 
shall  I  get  out  of  this?  \_Noise  at  the  door.  Alfresco  disengaging 
herself  from  Dr.  Bricabrac's  arms.] 

Alfresco.  Oh,  pshaw,  there  comes  Maud  and  Mr.  Kaolin  and  I 
have  not  said  half  what  I  intended  to  say  to  you. 

Dr.  B.  How  stupid  of  them.     [Aside]  Thank  fortune  ! 

£nter  Maud  and  Kaolin. 

Maud.  You  have  only  ten  minutes  to  catch  the  train  !  Oh  how 
quickly  the  afternoon  has  gone. 

Dr.  Brie.  Really,  is  it  so  late  ?  Then  we  must  tear  ourselves 
away.     Good  bye,  au  revoir.     [Kisses  Alfresco'' s  hand.] 

[Exit  Bric  and  Kaolin. 

[Curios  7vho  have  been  capering  about,  run  hurriedly  to  their 
places  ;  the  Mummy  mounts  the  pedestal,  the  Mandarin  leans  against 
the  bust  in  the  corner,  while  the  Greek  Statue  crouches  in  the 
Mandarin's  boxul. 

Alfresco.  I  think  Dr.  Bricabrac  is  the  greatest  connoisseur  living. 
Maud.  In  curios,  yes,  but  of  old  china  and  maiolica,  I  think 


'  |i 


Ve  Last  Sivcct  Thing  in  Corners.  45 

Mr.  Kaolin  is  one  man  in  all  the  nineteenth  century — 1  am  perfectly 
happy  to-day  \_sighs^ . 

Alfresco.  So  am  I  [sighs'^. 

Maud.  How  glad  Papa  will  be  when  he  sees  our  new  possessions  ! 
Why,  there  is  the  dear  Pater  now. 

Brown.  My  darling,  my  first  born  Alfresco,  my  lady  Maud.  But 
where  is  my  little  Arch-Rebel-  Consuelo  Renaissance  ? 

Maud.  Out  riding  with  her  doctor  Sam,  as  usual. 

Alfresco.  Papa,  dear,  you  can't  guess  what  has  happened.  Now 
shut  your  eyes—  No  don't  open  your  mouth—  Shut  your  eyes. 
Now  turn  around.     Now  then,  what  do  you  think  of  this  ? 

Brown.  What  do  I  see  ? 

Alfresco.  Doctor  Bricabrac  brought  them— wasn't  it  lovely  of 
him  ?  See  that  Mummy !  IPoints  io  Mummy  who  has  posed  d  la 
Col.  Sellers. 1 

Brown  {in  a  7apiure}.  But  this  is  grand  !  my  dears,  I  take  this 
as  very  friendly  on  tlie  part  of  my  friend  Bricabrac,  he  has  l.-^-haved 
handsomely,  he  has  indeed.  What  power  there  is  in  that  brow,  in 
that  urn— urn-marble,  in  ye  urn— ye  an— in  fact  see  how  carefully 
ye  color  is  worked  up  in  ye  bit  of  old  china,  doubtless  by  some 
celestial  jjrehistoric  artist,  equal  to  Potta-Rubb.a  of  Italy.  And 
that  a-um-that  ah-./yV/  ./'  art  is  ye  figure-head  of  ye  ancient 
bucaneer — I  doubt  not — 

Alfresco  {asidey  Why  they  look  awfully  queer  some  how,  don't 
they  to  you  Maud  ? 


■H 


aoB 


''^''%f9f-*'^^iitmisimm$mma^ 


*"  iMfi 


9 


46 


Ki'  Zrt'.sV  S^vect  Thins^  in  Comers. 


,•:> 


t.if 


H 


(i 


;   I 


Maud  \_asidc'\.  What  did  you  say,  dear?      I   was  thinking  of 
Claud  Kaolin. 

Broivn  \_attittidinizing\.  Alfresco,  hear  me — that,  that  is  ye  only 
mummy  I  ever  saw  which  struck  me  as  being  genuine.  Alfresco, 
Maud,  my  children,  it  was  a  glad  day  for  me  when  it  darkened — 
came  beneath  my  humble  rooftiee.  Oh,  you  thing  of  old,  you 
corpse  of  an  ancient  king — (probably) — you  friend  of  ye  Pharaohs 
and  contemporary  of  dead  and  gone  monarchs  of  mighty  Egypt. 
Sharer  of  ye  mystic  secrets  of  ye  sphynx,  of  that  grandest  of  all 
conundrums — ye  pyramids  !  Would  you  could  speak  now,  and 
tell  us  of  your  own  age,  and  put  this  frivolous  time  of  ours  to 
shame  !  [^  lotid  knocking  at  the  door.'\ 

Brown.  What,  ho !  Benvenuto  !  Approach  ye  portal  and  bid 
him  who  waits  salve,  and  cave  cancm. 

Enter  two  Polickmkn. 

Brown.  What  would  ye? 

1st  Policetnan.  Is  your  name  Brown  ? 

Brown.  It  is — sirrah. 

rst  Policeman  [dra^ving- paper  from  his  coat'].  You  must  come 
with  me  ;  you're  my  prisoner. 

Brown.  Marry  fellow,  what  do  ye  mean  ? 

1st  Policeman.  Now  stash  your  gab — you're  going  up  on  three 
counts. 

Alfresco.  Ah!     [In  terror."] 

iT/rt«^,  Oh  Papa  !     ISobbing.] 

Brown  [aroused  to  indignation  and  the  American  language]. 


k 


Vc  Last  Sivcct  Thi)ig  in  Conurs.  47 

Hush  girls  !  How  dare  you  intrude  upon  me— I  am  a  simple  gentle- 
man. [1ST  Policeman  winks  at  2d  Policeman  and  taps  his  head 
significantly. \     And  I  am  ihe  art  critic  of  the  Fog  Whistle— 

1st.  Policeman.  Now  you  needn^t  say  anything  to  criminate 
yourself,  but  I'd  like  to  know  how  much  you  expect  to  make  out 
of  the  shady  little  plant  you're  on  now. 
Brown.  "Plant,"  fellow,  what  does  this  insolence  mean ? 
1st.  Policeman.  Don't  try  that  on—it's  too  thin.  I've  had  my 
eye  on  you  for  a  long  time,  and  thought  you'd  need  my  profes- 
sional services  ;  now  are  you  coming  peaceable,  or  shall  I  clap  on 
the  bracelets  ? 

Brown.  I  demand  to  know  of  what  I  am  accused. 

2d  Policevian.  Teil  him  Billy. 

1st  Policeman.  Receiving  stolen  goods.  Harboring  two  es- 
caped lunatics— these  young  women  here— they  go  up  with  you, 
and  vagrancy. 

Brozvn.  But  my  good  man,  you  are  mistaken,  I  assure  you,  we 
are  a  quiet  family.     I  am  an  art  critic— 

nt  Policeman.  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  give  yourself  away? 
Now  I'd  advise  you  to  stop  chinnin'  or  you'll  make  things  worse. 
We  have  our  theory  about  you  worked  out  fine. 

Brown.  I  will  give  bail— come  with  me  and  I  will  give  you 
security  for  my  appearance  at  any  time  the  law  may  demand,  but 
now  it  is  late,  and  I  would  be  rid  of  you. 

ist  Policeman.  Much  obliged,  but  that  won't  work.  We  won't 
take  any  bail,  its  too  late,  and  to-day's  Saturday.     You'll  have  to 


-*""*«-•■'---■ 


48 


Vt'  Last  Siveet  Thimr  in  Corners. 


i   ^ 


:  \ 


make  the  best  of  it  in  the  jug  until  your  case  is  tried  next  week. 
So  come  along — get  your  Inmnits  young  women.     Come  along! 

yLays  his  hand  on  Brown's  shouldei .] 

Alfresco.  Don't  you  dare  touch  my  lalhcr.  He  is  innocent.  I 
call  the  angels  to  witness! 

ist  Policevian.  Well  young  woman,  if  you  can  supeny  them 
angels  when  your  trial  comes  off,  you'll  score  one  for  the  Brown 
case,  but  now  you  are  all  coming  along  with  me. 

Maud.  And  leave  our  home  ! 

Alfresco.  Our  sweet  home,  our  own  artistic  paradise  ! 

Brown.  Our  vine  and  fig  tree  ! 

ist  Policeman.  Don't  feel  bad  old  man,  your  vine  and  fig  trees 
are  comin'  too,  I  have  got  a  warrant  for  three  of  'em.  {^Seizes 
curios,  who  stntggle  ;  the  Mummy  tries  to  crawl  under  the  portiere. 
The  Browns  stare  at  them  in  consternation.^ 

Brown.  I  am  not  mad — no,  no,  not  mad.     \^Tears  his  hair. '\ 

jst  Policeman,  Well,  your  neighbors  wouldn't  swear  to  that. 

\^Seizes  Brown."] 

Alfresco.  Help — I  die  ! 

\_S2v00ns  .ind  is  caught  by  the  MANDARIN.] 

Maud.  Oh  my  sister,  I  die  with  you ! 

\_S7v00ns  and  is  caught  by  the  STATUE.] 

Brown.  My  chield,  my  chield.  \^S'a'oons  and  is  caught  by  the 
Mummy,  wlio  poses  a  la  Col.  Sellers.  CosETTE  smashing  dishes  as 
curtain  Jails. 

End  of  Act  II. 


ACT  III.     HOME-IN  A  COTTAGE. 

Scene.— T-r^j/,/,,//^  furnished  drmving-room  in  the  Gray  Coffage, 

the  resilience  of  Dr.  Fi.oyd. 

Enter  G\m\OGK,fo/lowed  by  MooDLE. 
Modd/e.  Oh  Gam,  I'm  a  brute,  I'm  a  brute  ! 
Gamboge.  And  I'm  another. 
Moddle.  Yes,  we're  both  brutes. 

Gamboge.  But  for  all  that,  don't  you  go  spoiling  what  we  have 
done  with  your  sentimental  notions  of  justice.     It's  done,  and 
can't  be  helped,  and  tho'  I  can't  say  that  I  altogether  approve 
of  what  we  did,  the  end  partly  reconciles  me   to   the   means. 
Maud  and  Alfresco  were  two  very  silly  girls,  for  all  their  loveli-' 
ness.  and  we  have  cured  them ;  their  father,  begging  their  pardon, 
was  an  infernal  ass  ;  but  now  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  has  given  up 
for  all  time  his  profession   of  making  fools  of  others   as  he  has 
been  doing  with  his  papers  on  art  i,Poor  Art!).     Viewing  it  in  a 
pecuniary  light,  he  had  interfered  with  our  means  of  obtaining  our 
living_I  do  not  believe  there  was  any  bitterness  in  the  revenge 
we  took  upon  him  though  I  am  afraid  we  frightened  the  girls. 

Moddle.  By  Jove,  Gam,  I  was  frightened  too,  when  I  saw  her 
lying  like  a  dead  lily  in  the  arms  of  the  bit  of  old  china.  For- 
tunately  the  rag  carpets  and  rugs  were  thick. 


50 


Vi'  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


\} 


Gnmhoi^e,  Hut — ha !  ha  ! — how  the  old  fellnw  did  beam  upon 
us  when  we  appeared  in  our  own  identity,  as  the  trio  were  recov- 
eriiij^  from  their  swoon  ! 

Muddle.  And  how  he  swallowed  the  story  of  our  being  near  the 
barn  beautiful  sketching,  and  heard  cries  of  distress  and  hastened 
to  their  rescue  ! 

Cainbotre.  And  how  important  a  person  I  i)ecame  in  IJrown's 
eyes  when  I  told  him  I  had  influence  with  the  police,  and  would 
be  responsible  for  their  appearance  until  he  could  get  bail — but 
poor  Alfresco,  my  heart  misgave  me  when  I  saw  her  fainting  in 
Cricket's  arms ! 

Moddle.  How  well  the  little  beggars  played  their  parts! 

Gamboge.  Not  to  mention  the  talent  of  the  big  beggars,  eh, 
Moddle  ? 

Moddle.  As  far  as  that  was  concerned,  it  all  went  off  like  a  play, 
especially  when  we  had  to  change  our  clothes. 

Gamboge.  Well  then,  as  I  said,  let  well  enough  alone.  We 
courted  the  girls  for  spite,  we  are  going  to  marry  them  for  love- 
Maud  hates  Kaolin,  the  scamp,  but  adores  Moddle,  her  preserver. 
Alfresco  detests  Kricabrac  the  impostor,  but  has  promised  to 
intrust  her  happiness  into  the  keeping  of  Raphael  Gamboge,  the 

or  artist.  I  know  they  both  have  spirit,  and  I  for  one,  ar>;  not 
.0  sick  of  self  love,  thank  Heaven,  as  to  believe  her  love  for  me 
now  could  make  her  forget  my  conduct  to  her  then,  and  grant  me 
a  full  pardon.  But  she  needed  a  lesson;  they  both  did,  and 
Brown,  like  a  sensible  man,  has  quit  writing  on  art,  of  which  he 


Vc  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners.  5 1 

knows  nothing,  and  has  gone  into  manufacturing  Macram6  lace, 
for  which,  I  admit,  he  has  some  talent,  in  fact— 

Modiile.    All's  v,ell,  that  ends  well. 

Gambo^^e.  Ah,  but  here's  the  rub.  We  have  not  yet  got  to 
the  end.  Now  I  was  about  to  propose  this  poser  to  you.  What 
are  we  going  to  live  on  when  we  get  married  ?  But  softly,  here 
comes  Mrs.  Doctor  Sam. 

Enter  Mrs.  Dr.  Sam  Flovd,  formerly  Miss  Connie  Brown. 
Mrs.  Floyd.  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  alone  fx^r  once.  I  have 
been  trying  to  get  a  word  with  you  two  alone,  ever  since  we  re- 
turned from  our  wedding  tour,  for  I  must  thank  you  for  your 
efforts  in  persuading  my  misguided  family  to  leave  that  detestable 
barn.  What  magic  have  you  about  you  ?  How  did  you  accom- 
plish it?  I  ask  the  doctor,  hut  he  ^variably  replies,  "Rid- 
dles, Connie,  I  know  no  more  than  you  do."  But  come  to  con- 
fession, now,  and  tell  me,  how  did  you  go  about  it? 

Gamboge.  Why  really,  Mrs.  Floyd,  you  know  we  were  in  the 
neighborhood  when  they  were  in  that  scrape,  and  it  was  our  duty 
to  help  them,  which  we  did,  and  since  then  a  more  amiable  feeling 
has  been  established  between  your  father  and  ourselves. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Yes,  I  know,  papa  used  to  he  severe  on  your  pic- 
tures.    I  always  thought  then,   lovely,  and  it  was  so  generous  of 
you  to  get  him  out  of  that  scrape,  when  by  leaving  him  alone,  you 
might  have   had  revenge  by  seeing  the  disgraceful  story  in  the 
papers.     But  I  don't  think  papa  really  meant  any  harm  by  his  art- 


■— 


'i^ 


I 


'  I 


a 


IV 


52 


Ye  Last  Secret  Tiling  in  Corners. 


writing,  only  he  was  fond  of  scribl)Ung  and  it  gave  the  whole 
family  a  sort  of  swagger  you  know. 

Enter  Doctor  Sam  Fi.oyd. 
Doctor  Sam    \^interruptini^'\.    Mustn't    say     swagger,     Connie 
dear      What  are  you  all  talking  about  ? 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Well,  I  mean  it  gave  us  a  sort  of  air,  to  be  pointed 
out  as  the  daughters  of  a  great  art-critic,  and  sometimes  papa  got 
beautiful  pictures  from  some  of  the  artists  of  whose  work  he 
wrote,  and  that  of  course,  was  very  nice. 

Gamboge.  I  am  sure  it  was  an  easy  way  of  adding  to  his  collec- 
tion.    \  Exchanges  looks  with  Moddle."] 

Mrs.  Floyd.  And  sometimes  the  artists  would  send  him  pictures 
before  he  wrote  about  them,  so  he  must  have  had  his  admirers 
among  your  profession. 

Doctor  Floyd,  And  were  they  good,  or  bad  pictures  ? 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Why  as  it  happened,  they  were  all  good,  for  papa 
pufied  them  all,  and  if  they  were  big  he  wrote  a  half  column  each 
about  them.     But  here  are  the  girls. 

Filter  Alkresco  and  Maud  Brown. 

Afrs.  Floyd.  You  are  just  in  time  Allie.  I  was  telling  Mr. 
Gamboge  about  a  perfect  symphony  of  a  barn  there  is  to  let. 

Alfresco.  Now,  Connie,  will  you  please  stop.  You  promised 
you  would  not  say  anything  more  about  it. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Stop  what,  Allie,  I  was  only  telling  my  brother-in- 
law  to  be,  of  a  chance  to  get  a   media-val  interior  at  a  bargain. 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners.  5  3 

Maud.  Please,  Connie,  stop. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Why  Doctor  Sam,  did  you  ever  know  two  such  un- 
grateful girls  in  all  your  life?  Here  I  am  offering  to  do  all  I  can 
to  aid  them  by  my  six  weeks  experience  as  a  wife  and  housekeeper, 
and  they  look  as  if  they  were  about  to  cry,  and  you  sit  there  and 
see  your  lawful  wife  abused  and  don't  interfere.  Defend  your 
altars  and  your  fires  and  my  dignity,  Sam,  tel'  them  they  must  treat 
me  with  respect  under  your  roof  even  if  it  is  not  shingled  with 
early  Dutch  tiles. 

Alfresco.  Will  you  ever  keep  still  about  that  barn.     I  hate  barns. 

Maud.  So  do  I. 

Moddle.  I  don't. 

Gamboge.  I  don't  either. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  I  used  to,  but  I  don't  now,  for  its  no  end  of  fun  to 
think  of  the  sport  that  was  carried  on  under  that  roof.  When  that 
horrid  old  Hricabrac  used  to  call  on  Allie,and  talk  about  Egyptian 
pottery  and  Hindoo  rice  placjues,  I  used  to  get  behind  the  portidre 
and  make  Cosette  rattle  the  dishes,  and  once  I  made  her  fry  some 
onions  to  see  if  I  could  not  drive  them  out  that  way. 

Alfresco.  Won't  you  please,  brother  Sam,  coax  her  to  hold  her 
tongue.  I  have  eaten  humble  pie  enough  and  am  perfectly  willing 
that  my  husband  shall  have  a  home  utterly  devoid  of  ornament,  if 
he  pleases. 

Gamboge.  Your  husband  is  going  to  let  his  wife  furnish  her 
house  to  suit  herself. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Your  barn  beautiful,  you  mean. 


w^ 


h    I  ! 


Ml 


HI 


<l 


IS 


54 


Ye  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


Doctor  Sam.  Connie,  you  little  witch — I  shall  have  to  punish 
you — have  either  of  you  two  ladies  such  a  thing  as  a  silver  and 
Niello  Damascened  bowie-knife  about  you? 

Alfresco.  Sam,  you're  as  bad  as  she  is.  "^et  us  change  the  sub- 
ject. 

Doctor  Sam.  With  all  my  heart — by  the  way,  if  it  is  not  an  im- 
pertinent question,  when  are  you  four  people  going  to  be  married  ? 

Moddle.  Why  the  fact  is — \_hcsitatcs'\. 

Gamboge.  The  fact  is — \^hcsitates'\. 

Aland.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I  was  rich  ! 

Doctor  Floyd.  So  do  I,  Maud,  but  what  has  that  got  to  do 
with  my  question  ? 

Jifoddle.  Why  you  see — 

Gamboge.  The  fact  is,  we  have  not  got  any  money.  1  have  pic- 
tures, and  Moddle  has  g^ot  statuary,  but  they  won't  do  us  any  good 
until  we  can  turn  them  into  dollars  and  cents.  To  come  down  to 
stern  facts,  what  with  the  twaddle  in  the  newspapers  and  the  twad- 
dle out  of  the  newspapers,  an  American  artist  can't  sell  a  picture 
unless  he  goes  to  Europe  to  do  it,  for  rich  people  who  are  weak 
enough  to  be  led  by  everything  they  see  in  print,  had  rather  refuse 
to  buy  what  their  own  innate  good  taste  would  lead  them  to  pur- 
chase, than  not  put  child-like  faith  in  flimsy  newspaper  articles  on 
Art,  and  so  the  "tolerably  well  to  do"  people  buy  chromos,  and 
the  artists  starve. 

Alfresco.  Could  not  we  live  in  the  studio  and  save  renting  a 
house  ? 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


55 


Gamboge.  No,  clearest,  there  would  be  no  economy  in  that  mix- 
ture. 

Alfresco.  Couldn't  we  help  you  in  some  way  ?  I  could  do 
crewel  work  and  sell  it  and — 

Maud.  And  I  could  pose  for  Ralph. 

Doctor  Floyd.  I  wish  1  were  rich  enough  to  buy  pictures  and 
statuary  and  I  would  give  you  both  a  lift. 

Mrs.  Floyd.   I  have  an  idea — 

Doctor  Sam.  Oh,  have  you  Connie,  whereabouts  ?  Really  now  ? 
Do  you  suffer  from  it — my  healthy  little  wife — show  me  your 
tongue. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Taiscz  vous — to  speak  more  correctly,  I  had  an 
idea,  and  acted  upon  it,  but  as  I  did  not  wish  to  lose  the  benefit 
of  it  by  discounting  a  success,  I  forebore  to  tell  any  of  you  of 
my  plan. 

Doctor  Sam.  Whatever  is  going  to  happen  when  Connie  has 
such  a  long  idea  as  that  ? 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Please,  Doctor  Floyd,  I  have  the  floor.  We  are 
going  to  have  a  visitor  this  afternoon,  dear  old  uncle  Bobbin  from 
Cincinnati.  You  know  he  is  as  rich  as  a  Peruvian  gold  mine.  I 
wrote  to  him  two  weeks  ago,  telling  him  all  about  you  four  people 
who  want  to  go  housekeeping  and  have  a  nice  little  income  to  keep 
it  with,  and  begged  him  to  buy  some  pictures  by  Raphael,  and  a 
statue  by  our  sculptor  brother.  I  got  a  letter  from  him  as  soon  as 
the  return  mail  could  fetch  it  to  me,  and  he  said  he  had  to  come 
to  New  York  on  business,  and  he  would   visit  me,  and  to  make  a 


^Tiwinpi 


^pp 


«M 


56 


Ye  Last  Sweet  Tning  in  Corners. 


1 


long  story  short,  I  got  a  telegram  this  morning  that  he  would  be 
here  to-day.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones  that  he  will  do  something  for 
you. 

Ganiboge.  Dear  Mrs.  Floyd,  your  words  put  fresh  hope  in  our 
hearts. 

Miiud.  Oh,  Connie,  you're  a  dear  thoughtful  girl. 

Connie.  Why  you  said  yesterday  that  I  had  not  but  one  idea  in 
the  world  and  that  was  that  I  had   the  best  husband  in  America. 

Doctor  Floyd.  You're  a  sensible  little  woman  and  you  deserve 
him,  ahem  ! 

Alfresco,  I  say  you  are  a  dear,  dear,  kind,  little  sister  too. 

Connie.  Why,  you  told  me  yesterday  that  I  was  an  exasperating 
little  donkey,  and  the  only  person  I  ever  tried  to  please  and  pro- 
pitiate was  my  husband. 

Doctor  Floyd.  Again  I  say  you  are  a  sensible  little  woman,  and 
if  the  world  were  fuller  of  such  it  would  be  the  jolliest  place  to 
live  in. 

Alfresco.  Won't  it  be  splendid  if  uncle  Bobbin  does  help  us. 
How  funny  I  never  thought  of  writing  for  his  advice. 

Maud.  If  he  doa't  help  us,  what  shall  we  do  to  get  married? 

Gamboge.  Getting  married  is  the  easiest  part.  What  shall  we 
live  on  afterward  is  the  agonizing  problem.  \Noise  is  heard  at  the 
door.  ] 

Airs.  Floyd.  I  wonder  if  that  is  not  uncle  Bobbin  now  ?  [  Goes 
to  the  door.  ] 


M 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners.  57 

Enter  Stumps  with  letter. 
Stumps.  A  letter  for  Mr.  Gamboge. 

Gamboge.  Ah,   my  lad,  and  why  did  you  not  leave  it  at  my 
studio,  is  it  important  ? 

Stumps.  The  man  that  left  it  said  you  must  get  it  to  wunst. 

Gamboge.  Any  answer  ? 

Stumps,  No,  sir. 

Gamboge.  You  may  go,     [Opens  letter. -^     Why,  what  is  this? 
Gr^-it  heaven  !     Can  he  have  committed  suicide  ? 

Alfresco.  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?     No  bad  news,  I  hope. 

Gamboge.  Ifs  from  your  father.  {_Reads'\  By  the  time  this 
reaches  your  hand  I  shall  be  far  atvay.  Macrame  lace  and  raveled 
rugs  fail  to  compensate' me  for  the  loss  I  have  sustained  in  leaving 
the  art  critic's  chair  on  the  Fog  Whistle.  When  you  made  me 
promise  to  leave  art  and  go  into  trade  you  little  kneiv  you  had  bereft 
me  of  the  melody  of  my  life.  Lest  temptation  prove  too  strong,  I 
leave  America  forever.  I  shall  never  be  taken  alive,  so  follow  me 
not.  With  my  bride  /go  to  Italy's  sunny  clime,  where  beneath  its 
cerulean  blue  I  shall  try  to  forget  the  ingratitude  of  the  American 
artists  in  the  study  ofmaiolica.     I  go  ;  farezoell.     Barouche  Brown. 

Maud  and  Alfresco.  To  whom  is   he  married?     Oh,  papa!  to 
leave  us  thus  ! 

Connie  [in  distress].  Oh,  can  it  be   true?     Don't   cry,   sisters; 
you  shall  have  a  home  with  us. 

Alfresco  [roiping  her  eyes'].  Who  is  his  bride  ?    Do  we  know  her  ? 


58 


Ye  Last  Sweet  Tiling  in  Corners. 


Mil 


Gamboge.  It  says  in  this  notice,  which  he  has  enclosed,  a  Miss 
Cosette  Crest. 

Alfresco.  Cosette ! 

Maud.  Cosette ! 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Cosette  Crest !  It  used  to  be  Cosette  Crust. 

Doctor  Floyd.  Who  the  deuce  is  Cosette,  anyhow  ? 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Why,  Cosette's  our  maid. 

Doctor  Floyd.  No,  she  is  not.     She  is  your  mother. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Our  mother  !     I'd  like  to  see  myself — 

Doctor  Floyd.  No;  but  seriously,  who  is  she?  or  who  was  she? 

Alfresco.  She  was  our  maid.     Have  you  forgotten  her? 

Doctor  Floyd.  No,  for  I  never  remembered  her.     I   never  laid 
eyes  on  her. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Oh,  what  a  story!     You  saw  her  a  hundred  times  ! 

Doctor  Floyd.  Upon  my  word,  I  did  not. 

Gamboge.  Neither  did  I. 

Moddle.  No  more  did  I. 

Gamboge.  I  don't  believe  any  of  us  ever  saw  her,  though  I  con- 
fess to  having  seen  on  several  occasions  a  pair  of  ankles;  but  I 
never  saw  the  face  of  the  owner ;  and  unobserved,  one  day,  when 
the  noise  in  the  culinary  department  was  the  loudest,  I  took  the 
liberty  of  making  a  sketch  of  them.  Here  it  is. 
\^Exhibits  sketch  of  a  dreadful  pair  of  ankles.     All  crowd  about  it 

and  laugh."] 

Gamboge    [aside   to   Moudlf.].    What   do   you    think   of    the 
news  ? 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


59 


Af addle  [aside  to  Gamboge],  I  thought  his  conversion  was 
mighty  sudden.  What  is  the  best  thing  to  say  to  comfort  the 
girls  ? 

Gamboge.  We  must  marry  them  at  once. 

Alfresco  {very proudly].  Doctor  Floyd,  you  have  been  a  kind, 
good  brother  to  us,  but  do  not  think  that  we  are  going  to  remain  a 
burden  on  you — Maud  and  myself  are  willing  to  work,  and  we  will 
go  out  as  governesses,  or  tend  a  shop,  if  we  can't  do  any  belter. 
Won't  we  Maud  ? 

[Puts  her  arm  about  her  sister  and  begins  to  cry.} 
Enter  BonBiN  unobserved. 
Gamboge.  Dearest  Allie,  don't  cry.  \_Goes  to  her.'\ 

Moddle.   Maud,  don't  cry,  we'll  take  care  of  you. 

\_Gocs  to  Maud.] 
Gamboge.  Yes,  we  have  made  up  our  minds,  as  we  cannot  live 
by  Art  respectably,  we  will  make  the  fair  creature  a  profound  bow, 
and  only  remember  her  as  a  coy  acquaintance.  I  can  get  Moddle 
a  position  in  a  clothing  store  as  salesman,  and  as  for  me,  I'll  work 
for  a  photographer. 

Bobbin  [coming forward^.  Hold  your  horses.  How  do  you  all 
do  ?  I  know  you're  all  glad  to  see  Uncle  Bob,  or  if  you  ain't,  I'll 
make  you  glad  before  I  go.  [Mrs.  Floyd  rushes  into  his  arnis.^ 
How  d'y  do?     So  little  Connie's  married.     How  do  you  like  it? 

Mrs.  Floyd.  Oh,  Uncle,  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come  !  We  are 
in  such  trouble !  Papa  has  eloped,  and  Allie  and  Maud  want  to 
get  married,  and — 


ii!iuwiw.«t«j.juiia|iui , 


6o 


Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


Bobbin.  Now  don't  say  another  word,  I've  been  listening  and 
heard  it  all.  Young  man  [/(?  Gamboge],  [  like  your  grit.  You 
keep  to  them  sentiments  I  heard  you  say  just  now,  and  I'll  stand 
by  you.     I  hear  you  can  paint. 

Gamboge.  I  can  paint,  but  I  can't  make  money. 

Bobbin.  That's  the  difference  between  you  and  me,  I  can  make 
money  but  I  can't  paint.  The  only  brush  I  ever  handled  was 
when  I  whitewashed  Aunt  Betsy's  garden  fence.  And  I  like  your 
grit,  young  man.     [  To  Moudle.]     So  you  can  make  statues. 

Moddle.  I  can  make  statues,  but  /can't  make  money. 

Bobbin.  There's  the  difference  between  you  and  me.  I  can 
make  money  but  I  can't  make  statues.  Now  suppose  you  listen  to 
an  old  man  who  has  roughed  it  and  knows  the  world,  if  any  man 
does.  You  two  young  men  marry  your  girls  and  come  out  West 
with  me.  I'll  give  you  work  if  you  won't  be  too  high  flown  to 
take  it.     You  say  you  can  draw  pictures  ? 

Gamboge.  By  the  cartload. 

Bobbin.  I'll  take  every  one  of  *em.  You  draw  'em  and  I'll 
turn  'em  all  into  labels  for  my  soap.  For  instance  a  beautiful 
home,  father,  mother,  children,  baby  in  the  cradle. — "  The 
Happy  Family,"  they  use  Bobbin's  soap.  Then  a  sad  scene,  a 
man  beating  his  wife — the  miserable  family,  they  don't  use  Bob- 
bin's soap.  What's  the  reason  you  can't  do  that  ?  Then  you  can 
paint  shirts  in  the  laundry  where  they  use  Bobbin's  Soap,  and  the 
shirts  in  the  laundry  where  they  don't  use  Bobbin's  soa'^.  I'll 
have  a  man  write  poetry  for  each  picture.     For  instance : 


Ve  Last  Sivect  Thing  in  Corners. 


6r 


Unlaundried  shirts  long  time  he  wore, 

Sal-soda  was  in  vain, 
Till  Bobbin's  soap  came  to  the  fore, 

And  set  him  up  again. 

Oh,  I'm  brimful  of  ideas !  It's  always  been  my  aim  to  see  pic- 
tures of  my  soap  in  every  grocery  store  from  here  to  Russia.  I 
can  keep  you  drawing  labels  for  me  till  you  make  enough  to  retire 
on.  Every  picture  you  paint  I'll  bargain  to  make  it  advertise 
my  soap.  Say  it's  a  landscape  with  a  girl  sitting  under  a  tree  or  on 
the  door  step. 

'Twas  a  Monday  morning, 

Kate's  washing  was  most  done. 
And  she  before  the  laundry  door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun, 
While  bleaching  on  the  pretty  green, 
Were  the  whitest  shirts  you  ever  seen. 

Chorus.  Use  Bobbin's  soap. 
Bobbin's  patent  quick  action,  self- asserting,  soil-persuading 
eclectic  soap.  No  respectable  family  can  do  without  it.  It 
•breeds  content  in  the  home,  comforts  the  wearj'  housekeeper, 
lightens  the  kitchen-maid's  cares.  The  father  coming  home  tired 
at  night  to  the  bosom  of  his  family,  sees  the  effect  of  Bobbin's  soap 
in  the  snowy  table  cloth,  the  spotless  napkins,  the  children's  pina- 
fores, the  bath  room  towels  and  in  the  mother-in-law's  lace  cap. 
Cleanliness  is  the  first  law  of    nature.     It  is  the  foundation  of 


62 


Ye  Last  Siveet  Thing  in  Coi-ners. 


'I  I 


morals  in  the  family,  and  the  family  found  the  state.  Give  Bob- 
bin's soap  a  trial.  It  contains  no  deleterious  substance.  It  is  per- 
fectly uninjurious  to  the  clothes. 

Give  it  a  trial  and  ask  for  more, 

No  charge  for  sample  left  at  your  door. 

Mrs.  Floyd.  I  say  so  too,  make  money  and  be  artistic  afterward. 

Doctor  Floyd.  It's  my  opinion  that  it's  a  splendid  offer. 

Gamboge.  And  I  am  thankful  for  it.  I  suppose  I  may  have  a 
chance  to  paint  other  pictures  in  time. 

Bobbin.  Of  course.  You  needn't  take  the  world  into  your  con- 
fidence. You  needn't  put  your  name  to  your  pictures  of  my  soap. 
I  don't  care;  I  ain't  proud  myself;  soap  has  stuck  by  me  and  I'll 
stick  by  soap,  but  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  you  and  the  girls  if  you 
don't  want  to  identify  A.  I.  art  with  the  best  soap  in  the  United 
States.  You  have  your  studio  in  the  best  building  in  the  city  for 
your  fancy  paintings  you  can't  sell,  and  I'll  rig  you  up  a  room  in 
my  factory  where  you  can  paint  the  labels  you'll  make  your  fortune 
at.  What's  the  reason  you  can't  clap  a  high  price  on  your  fancy 
pictures,  and  fight  shy  of  selling  them,  and  then  you'll  find  you 
can't  paint  'em  fast  enough  for  customers ;  that's  human  nature. 

Moddle.  And  how  can  I  be  of  service  to  you  ?  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  make  use  of  me. 

Bobbin.  What's  the  reason  I  can't  give  you  work  ?  I  want  you 
to  make  figures  of  people  using  Bobbin's  soap.  I  want  you  to 
make  a  figure  of  a  woman  holding  a  cake  of  Bobbin's  soap  in  her 


I 


Ve  Last  Siucet  TJiiiis;  in  Corners. 


63 


hand,  with  a  crown  on  her  head.  Why  can't  art  and  business  mix  ? 
If  you  want  to  give  it  an  ancient  Greek  touch,  why  throw  in  a 
little  Latin — 

Semper  idem,  non  disputamietn 

Soapus  Bobhiniis  ad  capitandem. 
Carve  it  around  the  bottom  of  her  petticoats,  and  I'll  fix  that 
statue  on  the  highest  peak  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  if  I  have  to 
go  to  Washington  twice  a  year  to  pay  the  rent.  Don't  you  fret ! 
I  can  give  you  lots  of  ideas  for  figures  to  carry  the  good  news  of 
Robliin's  soap  to  every  grocer  in  the  world — 

From  Canada's  cold  climate 

To  old  Kentucky's  shore 

We'll  send  a  cake  of  Bobbin's  soap 

To  every  cottage  door. 

And  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  Now,  I'm  a  man  of  few  words,  as  per- 
haps you  see.     Now,  will  you  take  my  offer  or  not  ? 

Gamboge.  I'll  take  it  and  thank  you. 

Moddle.  And  so  will  I,  with  all  my  heart. 

Alfresco.  Won't  it  be  delightful !  and  I  can  paste  the  labels. 

Maud.  And  I  can  pose  for  laundry  maids  and  housewives  and 
Bobbin's  soap,  the  queen  of  the  kitchen. 

Bobbin.  That's  right,  I  am  glad  to  see  you've  a  straight  idea  of 
your  duties  to  your  husbands  and  my  soap.  Can  you  get  married 
and  ready  to  go  West  with  me  in  three  days. 

All.  Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes. 


vpwpm 


64 


]  V  Last  Szveet  Thing  in  Corners. 


m 


Bobbin.  Then  I  must  leave  you  for  a  while,  for  I  have  other 
business  than  nnaking  matches.  Good-bye  until  to-night.  Bless 
you  my  children,  and  pack  your  trunks.  \_ExU  BoHiUN. 

Gamboge.  Now  for  a  fresh  start  in  life;  who  knows  but  out 
there  in  a  new  field,  free  from  care,  with  art  boiling  the  pot  and 
paying  the  rent,  we  shall  be  a  hundred  times  happier  than  drag- 
ging  out  a  miserable  life  of  disappointment  here — what  say 
you  Moddle? 

Meddle.  I  say,  "ay"  with  my  whole  heart,  [Aside}  Its  rum 
ain't  it  ? 

Gamboge.  It's  nothing  else,  but  I'm  game  for  anything.  I'll 
paint  the  labels  at  night  and  peddle  the  soap  in  the  day  time,  if  the 
old  man  insists  on  it  [aside^ 

Moddle.  And  I'll  carry  the  figures  of  Bobbin's  soap  patrons 
on  a  board  on  my  head,  like  an  Italian  image  vender,  if  I  can 
make  a  living  no  other  way  [^aside"}. 

Alfresco.  We  must  hurry  away  and  pack  our  trunks  and  boxes  to 
emigrate  to  the  far  West. 

Maud.  We  must  send  Benvenuto  to  that  horrid  barn  to  get  some 
things  we  shall  need — where  can  he  be,  I  sent  him  of  an  errand 
two  hours  ago. 

Gamboge.  Whisper  of  angels  and  you'll  hear  their  wings. 

Enter  Benvenuto. 
Ben  [trembling  and  frightened'^.  Oh,  Mars  Moddle,  oh,  Miss 
Frisco,  honey. 


■Ve  Last  Sweet  Thing-  in  Corners. 


0$ 


All.  What  is  the  matter,  what  ails  you? 

Ben.  Dreful  news,  Miss  Frisco. 

Gamboge.  Tell  us  quick  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Ben.  Oh,  Mars  Gamboge  de  barn  bu'ful's  dun  sploded.  Dar 
was  dynamite  in  the  las'  picture  dat  was  sent  Mars  Krown,  an'  it 
done  l)lowed  de  whole  cabin  up. 

Gamboge.  What  picture  ? 

Ben.  De  lilly  one  wid  de  curly  headed  bats. 

Gamboge.  Curly  headed  bats  1 

Ben.  Yes,  sah ! 

Alfresco.  Why,  what  can  he  mean  ? 

Maud.  I  don't  remember  it ! 

Mrs.  Floyd  {laughing'].  Perhaps  he  means  the  Sistine  Cherubs. 

Gamboge.  Oh,  to  be  sure,  the  copy  by  Vert  Green.  {Aside  to 
MoDDLE.]  You  know  Brown  played  the  mischief  with  him  in 
the  papers. 

Moddle  {aside].  Yes,  I  know,  but  this  is  a  dreadful  revenge  to 

take. 

Gamboge.  Any  loss  of  life,  Ben? 

Ben.  I  don'  understan  you. 

Gamboge.  Did  any  one  get  killed?  -rf 

Ben.  Yes,  sah,  two  ob'  em. 

Gamboge.  Great  Heaven!  speak  quick— not  your  master  and 

his  wife? 

Ben.  Not  zackly,  sah— Tabby  she  los'  one  ob  her  eyes,  and 
Towser  he  had  his  tail  cut  smove  off. 


/ 


■"^wr"^"-^ 


•wy^B^WW^WB 


(If 

I 


66 


Ye  Last  Sweet  Thing  in  Corners. 


Gamboge.  Oh  what  a  relief.     Poor  cats!     But  it  might  have 

been  worse.     And  it  is  quite  burned  to  the  ground  ? 

Ben.  Yes,  sah,  clean  gone. 

Dr.  Floyd.  And  no  insurance.     [Laug/nng.'\ 

Gamboge.  Why  then  I  suppose  that  is  ye  last  of  "  Ye  Barn  Beau- 

ii/ul." 

Curtain. 


o) 


# 


